


Little Talks

by darlingjegulus



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Complete, Drama, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, Sad and Happy, Wattpad Transfer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25363141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingjegulus/pseuds/darlingjegulus
Summary: "it's killing me to see you this way."1995Fred Weasley and Cedric Diggory were happy together. That is until June 24th, 1995, when Cedric is murdered by Voldemort.Now all Fred has left of him are all the memories they shared and a Pensieve to relive them.
Relationships: fred weasley/cedric diggory
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15
Collections: my works with fred weasley/cedric diggory





	1. One.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I’ve importing from Wattpad, from an account with the same username. :)

Fred Weasley was always an exceptionally happy person. He and George were always the best at making other people laugh, no matter how bad the situation around them became. But Fred Weasley was at his happiest when he was with Cedric Diggory.

The time they shared was short, but they had been the best few months of Fred's entire life. They had known each other for ages. They were Quidditch rivals since second year. Both had reputations that all of Hogwarts knew about; Cedric was 'Pretty Boy Diggory', a handsome boy who was gifted in everything he studied, and Fred was the school's most famous prankster who told the best jokes around. No one could have predicted the beautiful relationship that developed between them. 

Fred had started a new habit of sitting out on one of the Burrow's many balconies, nearly every night, all by himself. Even George knew better than to disturb him. Or maybe especially George knew to leave him be. Not many could say they shared a bond quite as close as that of Fred and George Weasley. George understood his twin better than he knew the back of his own hand. He knew when to engage and when to retreat.

Fred liked the balcony because it was the only place in the entire world he could go where nobody bothered him. It was quiet, pardoning the occasional scream from Mrs. Weasley. The darkness offered no sounds. Even the animals that normally roamed wild in the neighboring fields had grown silent. It was as if the world was mourning with him. 

For all the pain he was feeling, the balcony was a sanctuary. He could be at peace there. Thoughts ceased to clog his mind as he sat there. Fred never liked the quiet before, but now it was his closest friend. 

Nighttime was a different story. There was no control over what thoughts entered his head as he slept. Every night it was the same. The spectator stands just surrounding the maze, the band playing, all the different banners for the four champions, everything. The dream always started deceptively happy. It didn't take many nights for Fred to learn to expect something else. The music would stop, someone would scream, and there he was: Cedric lying limp with Harry sprawled on top. Every night Fred would lunge towards the body and every night George would hold him back. And worst of all, each time, he would catch a glimpse of his lover's face, grey eyes staring at nothing.

The dream never continued past that point. Like clockwork, seeing those eyes always jolted him awake, breathing heavily. George knew what to do. He had experienced enough of these nightmares and had devoted himself to perfecting the art of comforting his brother. The younger twin never said a word; he just hugged his arms around Fred and rested his head on his shoulder. George had memorized the time that these nightmares occurred. It was consistently just before midnight. So while Fred went to sleep, he stayed awake, waiting for the inevitable. George was also sure that his brother did not know these sleeping habits. There was enough for him to worry about already.

When the Weasley's moved out of the Burrow and into Number 12 Grimmauld Place midway through summer, Fred lost his sanctuary. The one place he could go for peace was gone. Instead, he had the cramped quarters of the headquarters of the Order to endure. Quiet was impossible to come by anymore. At the Burrow, any yelling that took place could be muffled by the fact that the house contained many floors. The balcony at the top was a great distance from the kitchen, which became the epicenter of any arguments breaking out. Grimmauld Place had significantly fewer floors and significantly more occupants. It wasn't that Fred had problems with all the new houseguests and visitors. It was that he felt he had to do a damn good job of pretending to be happy whenever someone came by for a meeting. That was a new concept for him; happiness had always come so naturally before. 

There were only two people Fred felt he could be completely genuine with: George and Harry. George was his best friend and normally his closest confidant. He operated based on strong comfort and attempted humor that often fell flat. Circumstances, however, had lead to a change. Harry was the only person who came close to understanding. The Boy Who Lived had only briefly known Cedric. Maybe they could be considered friends. Nothing like what he and Fred had. But he was the one who had witnessed him die and the one who had brought him back. The problem came in how the two boys handled their strong emotions. Whereas Harry had anger bubbling up inside him, waiting to lash out, Fred dealt in sullen despondency. Discussions had the potential to become frustrating. 

So even in proximity to an ally, Fred Weasley felt hopelessly, desperately alone. 

The prospect of returning to Hogwarts was usually one that excited Fred. The previous year was no exception. As much of a disappointment the World Cup had turned out to be, some good came out of it. It was the first time Fred and Cedric had properly spoken. The quiet, brown-haired Hufflepuff caught the eye of the obnoxious redheaded Gryffindor. George had noticed him staring. He was playful in his teasing. Fred didn't mind, if anything, it made him even more sure of his attraction. 

His eagerness to return to school remained vigilant from the moment they returned home from the Cup to the car ride over to King's Cross Station. For once in his academic life, Fred was even excited for Herbology, the class he knew he would share with Hufflepuffs. 

This year was different. The person he had spent all his afternoons with, the one who had dragged him to the library countless times, the boy he rambled on about his inventions to was gone. Dead. Fred had one day pleaded with his mother to allow him to skip out on his seventh year entirely. Mrs. Weasley would not budge. She insisted he went back and had attempted to ensure that he could find happiness at Hogwarts once again. He refused to believe her. Mrs. Weasley was a kind woman but firm when she needed to be. And above all, she loved her children. There was no way she would accept one of her children being so miserable. 

"I'll write to Dumbledore. He'll know what to do." She had said on Platform 9 3/4, as she pulled him into an embrace and kissed the top of his head. He forced a smile at her. No matter how empty Fred felt, there was the compulsion to be strong for his mother. 

"Can he bring Cedric back?" He asked her, a trace of his typical humor left on his face. It was a stupid question. Maybe it was such a stupid question that he could laugh at his foolishness. 

Mrs. Weasley turned her expression into one of pity.

"Even Albus Dumbledore can't do that."

He sighed.

"Then it's not enough."

The first days of seventh year were hell for Fred. There was nowhere that came close to the balcony and George couldn't be directly next to him when he was forced awake by the same dream that haunted him all summer. The first night in the dormitory he woke with a yell, powerful enough to wake up the others from their slumbers. His solution was to stop sleeping. He refused to allow that image to penetrate his mind; the only way to keep it away was to stay awake.

Some of his friends, most of all Lee, tried to cheer him up with discussions of the latest Zonko's products. Joining in on the discussion provided a temporary distraction that he was glad to take advantage of. Other friends took different approaches. Harry kept some distance. Fred was a painful reminder of the horrors he had seen and Harry was an agonizing connection to Cedric. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie tried comforting him whenever they could. It came in different forms. Angelina would grab Fred's arm and demand him to promise he would talk to her whenever he needed it. Alicia offered to do his homework for him to alleviate some extra stress. Katie rattled off things he could look forward to in the year ahead. Quidditch was one of them.

Quidditch. He hadn't thought of that until she brought it up.

Something that was once his favorite pastime exhausted him just thinking about it. On one hand, it was something to take his mind off Cedric. But alternatively, Quidditch had been one of their favorite things to talk about. Fred had constantly teased his boyfriend over the rivalry between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Walking onto the pitch and not smirking over at the yellow-clad Seeker until he got him to blush wouldn't feel right. 

George brought it up in conversation on the same day Katie had first mentioned it.

"You look awful." There was a nervous laugh as he said it, as though he feared Fred would murder him for even thinking it.

"Thanks." A relatively deadpan response. 

They were on the shore of the black lake, skipping rocks out onto the water.

"I mean it. You look like you haven't slept in months."

Fred was smarter than to just give up the truth. Even in his weakened state, he was clever enough to maneuver himself through a lie. George brought that out of him.

"Shouldn't you be happy? You're finally the good-looking one."

That was the first real joke he'd made in weeks. 

"It's all I've ever wanted. Now stop dodging what I said. Have you or have you not been sleeping?" He was sounding an awful lot like their mother.

Fred sighed and threw a stone more aggressively than before.

"No, I haven't." 

"You can't keep living like this, Freddie. I know you miss him but he wouldn't want to see you like this."

"You think I don't know that? You think I want to be like this?" 

It was the angriest he'd ever sounded with his twin. It was barely a second before he realized how much he hated speaking to him like that.

"I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help."

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault. I'm just making sure you in good condition for when practices start again."

Fred nodded in agreement, choosing to keep his doubts private.

"Let's head back."

"Alright. That reminds me."

"Of what?''

"Dumbledore wants to see you in his office. Says the password is Acid Pops."

George walked with him until they arrived outside the Headmaster's Office. Fred gave the password and watched as his brother walked away and the staircase revealed itself.

Dumbledore was not waiting for him inside. For a moment he thought George had pulled a prank on him; it would've been an excellent one by his standards. Those thoughts were put to rest once his eyes found a slip of parchment sitting on Professor Dumbledore's desk.

“I thought it best to leave you alone for this.

The Pensieve is one of my most prized possessions. I use it to look back on events whose details I am unable to remember. It will be more useful to you now than it is for me. Simply extract a memory from your head using your wand and place it inside.”

Next to the note was a stone basin, filled with a silvery substance. Fred had no idea what was meant by 'extract a memory'. Without any other options, he took out his wand and pushed it gently against his temple. He held it there for a brief moment, feeling ridiculous and clueless about how the extracting process worked. The only reassurance to be had against absurdity was that this was the work of Albus Dumbledore. 

Tired of waiting, Fred yanked his hand away only to find the same silvery substance from the basin was now dangling from the tip of his wand. He panicked for a second before flinging the contents into the Pensieve. Under normal circumstances, there would've been hesitation to go headfirst into a bowl of mystery materials pulled from one's head. These were not normal circumstances. Trusting Dumbledore's words, Fred submerged into the water. 

The scene changed immediately. Instead of being in the Headmaster's Office, he found himself standing in the middle of the Clocktower Courtyard. Groups of students were gathered there. One group consisted of three Hufflepuffs, all boys. Two he couldn't recognize but the third was a face he knew well: Cedric.

Fred had to blink about a thousand times before he could convince himself this wasn't a dream. There he was, the boy he loved, sitting there with that beautiful smile of his. He was alive. In this instant, nobody could tell him otherwise. He was content to just stay here forever, watching Cedric laughing with his friends. It had been so long since he last heard that laugh. Cedric had the kind of laugh that's soft but somehow full of energy at the same time. Fred missed it dearly. He wanted to move closer, to see if they could see each other. 

Suddenly a voice tore through the air, and it came from a figure running through the pillars in Cedric's direction. It was himself.

"Oi, Diggory!" The real Fred watched in awe as his memory form strolled up to Cedric. He took a few steps to get closer to listen in on their conversation. Not that he didn't already know what this was. 

Cedric looked between his friends before smiling and standing up to join the redhead. 

"Yes?"

"Don't play dumb, Cedric, you know why I'm here." The memory was beaming with the cockiest grin possible.

"I'm afraid I don't." The real Fred couldn't help but chuckle. He knew Cedric was always too humble for his own good.

Wasting no more time, past Fred closed the gap between them and implored, "Come to the Yule Ball with me."

Cedric's face reddened. His friends behind him were silently waiting to hear an answer. 

"You want to bring me? Out of everyone here, you're asking me."

The memory rolled his eyes and starting pacing backward. He cupped his hands around his mouth and started yelling so loud the whole courtyard could hear.

"I, FRED WEASLEY, AM ASKING YOU, CEDRIC DIGGORY, TO THE YULE BALL!"

Cedric looked towards the ground, his mouth twitching. Fred returned to him.

"Was that clear enough that time?"

Cedric nodded, returned his eyes upward, and simply said, "I'll go with you." People all around the courtyard began discussing. Girls swooned. 

"Brilliant." The redhead left with a wink, and the scene mixed together. 

Fred was back in Dumbledore's office. He was glad nobody else was there to see what he looked like. The look on his face was a mix of joy, confusion, sadness, and most of all, filled with a longing to return. 

The note next to the Pensieve had changed.

“Come back once at this time every week to see more. Make sure to only visit one memory each time. Spend too long in the past and you'll never be happy in the present.”

I'm already unhappy in the present, he thought to himself. I would rather be there, with him.

Fighting back the temptation to pull another memory out, Fred slipped his wand into his pocket. 

And then walked out of the office.


	2. Two.

Fred wasted no time in returning to the common room. Everyone would be out at dinner, leaving him some much-deserved peace and quiet. The fire crackled as he entered and jogged upstairs to relish in the seclusion of an empty boys dormitory.

This was his first time being in the room by himself. All the times before he was accompanied by the other Gryffindor boys laughing both in the seconds after they had woken up and in the moments before their heads hit the pillow for sleep. Fred often joined them, yet at a distance. He sat on the floor, leaned against his bed, forcing out some laughs and creating some with sincerity. This time he was alone; he liked that. He got to see how chaotic the dormitory was even in silence. Order forms for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes were tucked partially underneath George's other belongings. Batches of their products were strewn all over the space between the two brother's beds. Lee's luggage had been opened yet not completely unpacked; one of his textbooks was lying open next to his pillow as if he'd started to read and had gotten bored halfway through. 

The sun had already begun to set on the castle when Fred walked over to the window of the dormitory and stared out over its walls. He had once joked to Cedric about sneaking out during the night and going for a late ride on their broomsticks. The image in his mind was enviable; the two of them racing each other to see which one could circle the perimeter the fastest. Fred had been confident it would be him. Cedric had politely declined. He was a prefect after all, and prefects were supposed to uphold the rules, not break them in glorious fashion. 

The knowledge that he had a period of privacy led Fred to start shuffling through his trunk for one of the things he'd brought with him to school. They were packaged carefully in a small box: inconspicuous to everybody excusing himself. Inside that box was a stack of photos, the wizarding kind. Mr. Weasley had found a camera lying around during one of his excursions to investigate illicit activity for the Ministry. When he brought it back home, he had charmed it to be able to produce moving pictures, like they were used to. Fred had asked to borrow it just before sixth year. The family was shocked at first, senselessly assuming he had no hobbies besides good pranks. Mr. Weasley saw no reason why his son shouldn't be able to use, and so to Fred's delight, it was his. He practiced over the summer to get good at taking steady pictures. By the end, the walls in his room were covered with photos of his siblings lounging around together. Many involved George making obscene gestures with his hands that would have lead to a fight with Mrs. Weasley had she discovered them. Those pictures were only practice. The real goal was to capture the target of his affections for photographic remembrance of the moments they shared. There was only one element putting a fold in those plans; Fred had to make Diggory his before that could happen. 

Sitting in that alcove window, Fred opened up that small box and pulled all the photos out. The first one on top was just Cedric. The background showed a landscape both covered in light snow and showcasing the grasses of a forthcoming spring. The picture had been taking just before the second task of the tournament. Cedric had been fretting about the event for days. So, Fred demanded that he join him for a break from the worrying. The offer was accepted and they met up in an empty patch of grass near the lake. Upon seeing the water, Cedric was reminded of the daunting challenge ahead of him. Fred saw his face change from quiet excitement to apprehension and knew what he had to do. He gently grabbed Cedric by the waist and slowly turned him around so the champion's back was to the water. All Fred had to do was smile, and the other followed. Once his idea had worked, paces were taken in the opposite direction and a picture was taken. The result was one of Fred's favorite possessions. There was a reason it was on the top of the stack. It was the way the afternoon sun illuminated Cedric's eyes, how the gentle winter wind rustled through his hair. But most of all, it was that smile. Fred could go on and on about that smile. He noticed how the left side of his mouth was usually higher up and that only one side of his face had a dimple. The happiness that radiated off Cedric's smile was nauseatingly contagious; it was his secret weapon. Fred leaned his head back against the wall and grinned as he looked at that picture. They were so blissfully unaware back then. It seemed inconceivable that the happy boy in that picture had been taken from the world so soon. Nobody deserved it less than him.

He had just begun sifting through the rest of the photos, the corner of his mouth bent into a smirk, when the sound of footsteps arrived. The stack was gingerly replaced into the box and sealed away to be concealed. Nobody knew about its contents and it was preferred to stay that way. A short time later, the owner of the footsteps revealed themselves. George strode into the dormitory and his eyes lit up as soon as they latched onto Fred.

"I was wondering where you were. You had me worried."

"Wasn't hungry."

George accepted this as a decent enough excuse and walked over to his bed and relaxed onto it.

"So, what did Dumbledore want?"

Fred was wary of sharing. It had been such a personal experience for him. He decided his twin of all people had the right to know.

"He.. wasn't there. Left me a note telling me about this thing he had in his office. A Pensieve, he called it. You pull memories out of your head and put them inside, and then you can see them again like you're really there."

The concept was confusing.

"How do you pull memories out?"

"Don't ask. Anyways, I got to see him, Georgie. It was the time I asked him to the ball last year. I saw it happen again." Talking about what had transpired brought an unconscious wash of joy over his face. George matched that expression easily. 

"That's amazing. Did you get to see anything else?"

"No, but he's invited me to come back every week for a new memory. I think this could be it, you know. The thing that finally helps me." 

George didn't respond right away. Instead, he rushed forward and pulled his brother into a grip so tight one could be tricked into believing this was the last time they'd ever see one another. 

"I hope it does." 

The feeling of subtle euphoria Fred had experienced that evening wore off quickly. One memory wasn't enough to sustain him. He grew more impatient to return by the minute. What had seemed to be the cure of all his suffering and pain was turning out to be a double-edged sword. It was a chance to see his beloved again, something he couldn't have imagined being possible a week ago. Unfortunately, the time between the trips to Dumbledore's office was guaranteed to be filled with agony and frustration. He had allowed himself to sleep that the night of the first memory, praying that the thrill of revisiting the past would somehow stymie an invasion by his typical nightmare. The bet paid off. It was the first proper sleep he'd had in weeks. The nights that followed proved different. Directly following the peaceful night was one of dread: the return of that miserable dream. Just as had happened before, he was forced awake the second he laid eyes on Cedric's lifeless face. Only this time he managed to suppress a scream. 

He made a promise to himself right then and there that he would sleep on days he saw the memories and no more. 

The wait to return was not the only thing Fred had to brood over. Quidditch practices were starting for all four houses. He hadn't been asked about his willingness to play; it was an expectation. Angelina was his friend but she was also the captain now. Her tolerance for disloyalty to the team was already obvious. She had already accosted Harry for landing himself detention on the day of Keeper tryouts. Fred didn't much like the prospect of getting into a screaming match with her over it. 

The morning of that first practice brought a level of uneasiness he had never really experienced before. It was a mess of conflicting emotions. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his team. They had been a second family to him for five years. Even so, the thought of stepping onto that field and putting all his energy into a game was enough to exhaust him. Quidditch had the means to be a distraction. But the probability of that coming true had decreased sharply. The sport would always remind him of Cedric, and in that instant, he needed something to take his mind of what he had lost.

Fred feigned excitement as Katie sat with him at breakfast. She tried her best to rouse his interest but nothing worked. He only pretended to agree so she could feel pride in what she was doing. It was better that he didn't spread his foul mood to everyone around him, he felt. The ploy succeeded; Katie offered him a warm smile, overjoyed that he had managed to make him even the slightest bit happy. 

Something caught his eye as she beamed over at him. She only had one dimple.

Just like Cedric.

The team left together, and Fred forced himself to follow. George must've been able to tell something was wrong. He slung an arm around his brother's back and kept it there until it was time for them to change. Fred did so reluctantly. It was decided that they would practice in uniform this year. Most of the members found this idea to be a great success; they could get a genuine experience that way. Fred agreed with them until he had it on. 

It was like the uniform was trying to suffocate him, it was so tight. He would've started panicking if no one else had been around. So he fought his hardest to keep his composure. Then he realized something. It wasn't something as trivial as having been given the wrong size. No. The uniform flooded him with memories of lying on the grass with Cedric. All those times they had spent hours doing nothing but staring into each other's eyes. They always talked about Quidditch. Cedric adored Quidditch. 

He should be here, Fred thought. He should be here captaining his team. 

A horrible feeling latched onto him then. His breathing started to get heavier and his head started pounding. One look down and he saw that his hands were beginning to shake. He had no idea how to control it. Only one thing was certain; he had to get out of there. 

"I'll be right back, I've gotta check something." George acknowledged the statement by nodding, and Fred walked out of the tent.

And then he was running. He didn't even really know why. Escape was the objective. Getting away from that tent was all that mattered. 

The running didn't stop until he reached the same patch of grass by the lake from the photo. Fred collapsed down onto his knees in the exact spot Cedric had stood before. He started breathing harder. The tightness around his neck from the collar of his robes got worse. It felt like he was being strangled by some unknown figure.

Not sure of another solution, Fred reached for the collar, gripped it tightly, and yanked hard. The force of the pull ripped right through the fabric. The sudden release of his restraints caused him to take in an immense amount of air all at once. He fell forward, coughing and clutching his chest. The only thing preventing him from landing face-first into the dirt was a weak hand thrown out to break the fall. He refused to move.

"Fred!" 

Eyes widening, he snapped over to see the origin of the voice. It was Angelina.

"George told me you might be here. What are you doing? We have to practice now."

"I can't."

She became visibly frustrated and stepped closer.

"Don't say that, we need you, the team needs you, George needs you."

He stared into the ground, finally steadying his breath. He gained the strength to stand. She made a quick glance to his now completely ruined collar. 

"I can't," Fred repeated, more forcefully.

"Sure you can, just come back and try."

It got the better of him. He rounded on her.

"How many times do I have to say it? Don't you see? I can't do this." 

There was a pain in his eyes unlike ever before. It was like everything inside him just wanted to scream for help, for somebody to know how to solve everything. He was smart enough to realize that person didn't exist, and it certainly wasn't Angelina. She knew better than to try the same thing again. Hiding her disappointment was a lost cause. 

"Go then. I'll find someone to replace you." Her tone wasn't malicious. It was reassuring in some mangled kind of way. She was hurting too. 

He didn't bother responding. All he thought about was getting away from everyone.

As soon as he was back in the dormitory, he lost control. 

He slumped against the wall and broke down into tears. Not the kind of tears that slip out when you get clobbered by a Bludger during a match. Not the kind of tears that happen when you find out something you've been holding out hope for is no longer happening. When Fred Weasley broke down in the dormitory, it was a pain beyond what most understand. The way he cried only happens if you've been holding back from showing all your emotions for so long that you start believing it's normal. 

He didn't stop for what felt like a lifetime. Normally, the sound of someone approaching would have lead him to quickly wipe away any evidence that something had happened. This time he didn't have the strength to do anything about it. 

George came through the door just like he had previously after Fred had skipped dinner. Though, this time, he said nothing. His eyes saw his brother and filled with horror. All he knew to do then was hurry over to Fred and sit right next to him. George held his brother, digging deeper into his skin than he probably should have. Nothing hurt him more than to see his twin like this. He forced his head into the space between Fred's shoulder and jaw and closed his eyes, which had joined in on the misery themselves. 

"I wish I could do more." 

Fred found himself staring into the Pensieve a few days later. He had already poured his memory into the basin. He hesitated briefly, questioning whether or not he should continue. An image of Cedric's smile entered his mind. That made up his mind. 

The scene was one he'd only ever seen once. It was a special occasion. The Great Hall was decorated differently. The long tables had been replaced by many smaller round ones. Lights decorated the walls and orchestral music played in the distance. Everyone he could see was wearing dress robes and pretty gowns.

This was the Yule Ball.

Fred moved past all the couples to get to the dance floor. Once in the clear, he searched every person individually, being sure not to miss anyone. He didn't stop searching until he found one particular couple towards the middle. It was him and Cedric.

He watched as his past self steered his partner in the right direction. There was no point in getting any closer. Nothing was being said. The two boys were dancing without words, so in sync that communication wasn't necessary. Their robes were almost identical as were their facial expressions. So much joy was shared between the two that it was almost tangible in the air. Fred had his arms draped comfortably around Cedric's neck. Cedric was tenderly holding onto Fred's waist as if he was afraid if he gripped too hard his partner would burst. None of the other couples surrounding them looked as happy as them. Where others looked awkward, they looked confident, sure that everything they were doing was right. 

Fred watched himself for a long time. He had almost forgotten where he was when the pair left the floor and headed for the exits. Cedric looked at his partner with a sense of enthusiasm in his eyes. His next move was sliding his hand into Fred's and interlocking their fingers together. The redhead smiled and raised an eyebrow before looking behind him. He smirked and started speed-walking, dragging Cedric along with. 

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere none of the noisy prats will bother us."

They ducked around a corner and Fred stopped in his tracks. He turned to face Cedric, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pushed him up against the nearest wall. It was an assertive yet merciful push, one that was careful enough to avoid pain and strong enough to reveal intentions. Cedric gave his trademark smile, the left side up and the dimple exposed. Fred breathed a sigh of relief; it appeared as though he had been afraid the move would scare the other boy off. He moved his hands to hold Cedric's face, his thumbs resting on his cheek and the remaining fingers tucked behind his ears. Fred was more sure of himself now than ever before. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Cedric's, smiling against him. The Hufflepuff wrapped his arms around Fred's back, subconsciously starting to trace random patterns into it. He fully relaxed into the kiss and enjoyed each second more than the last. Their eyes closed together.

"We've never done that before," Cedric said softly as they pulled back. The present Fred released a quiet laugh when he heard it again. That phrase seemed so childish to him now. He had to remember how they had been last year. Relatively innocent and inexperienced. Cedric was just the only one brave enough to admit it.

"There's a first for everything," Fred replied, gazing back at the boy, longing for more. 

The colors of the castle blended into one and Fred rejoined reality. Even worse than last time, he wanted nothing more than to continue. The pain of the week had only made that desire more intense. 

When Fred returned to Gryffindor Tower, he didn't bother staying awake for George. He just needed rest.


	3. Three.

Fred returned to the patch of grass as soon as he thought he could handle it.

He was bitter with himself, for taking himself there while he was at his lowest. That spot had always been their place. Cedric was the one who recommended it first; he liked going there to study and to get away from all his worries. Fred wasted no time in planning out something special for the one he adored. He went to George for suggestions. While Fred was usually the twin to jump into action without much thought, George was more methodical, better with planning. Together, they came up with an idea: Wizard's Chess.

Cedric was enthusiastic about the idea. They borrowed the set from Ron and made their way down by the lake. The ground was covered in a light layer of snow and the early January weather was less than forgiving. Both boys had done their best to dress for the occasion. Fred wore one of the sweaters Mrs. Weasley had knitted him in the previous year. He was sure that it would be enough to keep him warm but Cedric had lovingly pleaded with him to bring a coat. The boy's charm won him over. On the other hand, Cedric couldn't have been more prepared. He had neatly tied a Hufflepuff scarf around his neck. The only part of his skin showing was that of his face.

Fred spent the entire walk bragging about how great he was at Wizard's Chess. He went on and on about how he'd beaten his siblings whenever they dared to challenge him. Cedric was much more modest regarding his abilities. He told Fred that he'd only ever played a few times and that it could be a rather short game. The redhead shook his head smiling. That would be no fun, he thought. He wanted the game to last as long as possible. 

It started heavily in Fred's favor. There was a gleeful smirk whenever one of his pieces obliterated one of Cedric's pawns. The response tended to be a disappointed sigh followed by a reassuring smile upward. But then move by move, Cedric gained the advantage. He captured most of the pieces without losing a single of his own. He was good. This only made Fred even more competitive; he started making bold moves to try and intimidate his opponent. He was so proud of one play that afterward he leaned back and stretched up high, confident that there was no way such a clever move could be unraveled. Cedric put a finger up to his lip as he studied the board. It appeared as though Fred had gotten the better of him. This, however, was not the case. He shyly grinned before proceeding and initiated an attack that was just the opening to a series of intricate moves that ultimately led to Fred's king being put in checkmate. 

"I thought you said you'd only played a few times?" The shock hadn't yet worn off. Cedric looked down at the ground for a moment before responding.

"And I won every time." 

They smiled at each other, Cedric because he wasn't used to being so proud of his skills, Fred because he hadn't expected to lose in such an embarrassing way. 

The smile transitioned into a pout for Fred. It was playful, with no intention of hurting the other's feelings. Cedric saw that face and bit his lip; he had an idea. Wordlessly, he removed the scarf off his neck and wrapped it around the neck of the sore loser. He gripped onto the ends and pulled just hard enough to bring Fred close enough to kiss. 

The Fred that stood in that spot now was ready to give up almost anything to go back. With Cedric, that spot near the lake meant comfort. It was the safest place in the world, it was where time would stop and it was where everything elsewhere became irrelevant. He was the only thing that mattered.

He couldn't stay long. It proved overwhelming. What once brought consolation in times of need now brought unrest without mercy.

Dolores Umbridge was quickly becoming the enemy of the Hogwarts population. Those who were not unsettled by her opening speech at the Welcoming Feast were beginning to learn. An inability to practice the very thing they came to learn was maddening. And it was just another blow to Fred. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a popular class throughout the school, but not many liked it more than he did. Of course, he appreciated learning all the different spells that could be used against anyone that bothered him, but it went further than that. His competitive nature existed in all aspects of life. Nearly everyone believed that Fred and George had no interest in their academic careers whatsoever, but that simply wasn't true. Fred paid attention to the creatures Professor Lupin had shown them so that maybe one day he could impress Charlie with a quick-witted reply to an assumption of his lackluster knowledge. He memorized answers to certain homework questions so he could use them to coerce Ron into doing tasks for him that could easily be done on his own. He made sure to master a few of the best offensive spells so that if Ginny ever came to him with someone picking on her, he could be the best possible teacher for getting revenge. 

Now that the class had turned theoretical, the one class Fred had been counting on to help him became just like all the others. It was just meaningless busywork. He took Alicia up on her offer to complete a bulk of his homework for him. The decision brought even more feelings of conflict. Cedric would've tried as hard as he could to change his mind. He would've offered to stay with him and help, but he wouldn't just do all the work for him. Nobody worked harder than Cedric. He was smarter then he let on. The girls on the Quidditch team knew him as quiet, handsome, and possibly a bit dim. Fred knew better than all of them. Whenever he tried to avoid getting his work done, Cedric found a way to persuade him otherwise.

But then again, if Cedric was still with him, this wouldn't have been a problem in the first place. 

It was at breakfast one day that Fred overheard Hermione talking about Harry and the detention he had endured with Umbridge. He couldn't catch every detail, but he heard the important bits. Copying lines was putting the punishment he had faced lightly. According to Hermione, the words he had written were now so strongly etched into his skin that it had scarred. He had also heard about what had landed Harry in detention; many were busy discussing that. Umbridge had tried to deny the truth behind Cedric's murder. She had called Harry a liar.

The next time the Gryffindors had Defense Against the Dark Arts, it became clear from the start that it was a disaster waiting to happen. An entire lesson had been planned around the act of conflict avoidance. Most of the students had developed ways to tune out the ceaseless nonsense pouring out of Umbridge's mouth. All Fred could think about was her lies. He couldn't have focused on the lesson if he had wanted to. The more she spoke, the angrier he got. He felt like the branch of a tree that's just lying on the ground. The kind small enough to hold yet large enough to be capable of withstanding some pressure. The ones that young children can entertain themselves with by bending it over and over. There's something about those branches that never fails to prove itself correct.

In the end, those branches always snap. 

"Professor, can I ask you a question?" 

George's eyes widened. Fred never asked questions. 

Turning around, Umbridge's eyes narrowed in on him. He had interrupted her while speaking. She hated interruptions. 

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" 

"Don't." George grabbed onto his twin's arm. It's too late.

"How exactly would you recommend avoiding conflict if you happen to be in front of Voldemort?"

The name makes a few people tense up. A year ago and it might have done the same for Fred. But now he forces himself to say it. Cedric wasn't murdered by You-Know-Who. He was murdered by Voldemort. 

"That would never happen because he will never return." 

"You called Harry a liar, you won't call me one." The grip on his arm got stronger.

"This is my classroom, and students shouldn't speak unless their hands are raised."

Fred's hand spot up and he repeated the question the same way he had said it before. Umbridge stared at him, furious.

"Detention, Mr. Weasley. For the next three days." 

She turned around and continued with the lesson as if nothing had happened.

The days of detention were met with anger, apprehension, and naturally, pain. The fact that he had to be punished for sticking up for the truth destroyed Fred. He had played around in small lies his entire life. Jokes are an escape from the truth and their inventions were based around the notion that a lie can be used to maximize benefits. This lie was serious. He refused to be silent. Cedric lived his life as honestly as he could. To see the reality behind his death be butchered and mutilated was the worst form of irony imaginable. 

Fred endured the pain and held his tongue in Umbridge's presence. He copied the phrase 'I must not tell lies' until she felt like relenting. By the end, his hand was hard to even look at. It became yet another reminder of Cedric. That's all anything was anymore. A reminder. He had nothing that was entirely his own. George was the only one he felt any real happiness with. 

But there was one place he could rely on. 

He found himself sitting down at a table in the Three Broomsticks. The building was packed with both students and professors. Every new person that walked in was lightly dusted with snow. The chairs all had coats draped over the backs and hats and gloves were laid casually down on the tables. The mugs of Butterbeer in the room numbered too many to count. Hagrid was off in the corner nursing an unidentified bottle of alcohol. Most of the tables were occupied by larger groups but a few featured pairs. Fred and Cedric were one of those tables. 

They were directly in the middle of the pub. Cedric had his elbows on the table, hands reaching out to grab Fred's. Alternatively, Fred was practically lying on the table like he meant to fall asleep on it. This was not the case. He was propped up by one arm while his free hand was delicately placed against Cedric's as if they were comparing hand sizes. When Fred grew tired of that, he started playing around with his fingers, teasing him by acting like he refused to ever actually hold his hand. At the same time, Cedric used his other hand to play around with Fred's hair. 

He loved doing that, the real Fred thought to himself.

Madam Rosmerta walked over and dropped two more glasses off. Fred eagerly straightened up in his seat and grabbed one, holding it up, waiting for Cedric to do the same. The other boy followed suit and they clinked their glasses together, getting some on the table. Cedric instantly set his down and tried to clean it up as fast as he could. All Fred had to do to get him to stop was grabbed onto his forearms and squeeze.

"Relax." He reached into the sleeve of his sweater and pulled out his wand. Within seconds, the spill had evaporated and Fred's hand was back on Cedric's arm. 

They stayed for a while longer until they finished their Butterbeer. Once they had, Fred fervently hopped to his feet and offered his hand out. Cedric gladly took it and was heaved upward at an alarming speed. 

"You're in a hurry." He exclaimed, catching onto Fred's shoulder to stop from falling over. 

"Places to go, people to see." 

"What other people do you need to see?"

"Oh, just you. But there are so many other places we could go."

He put an arm around his waist and pulled him even closer. As they left together, Cedric leaned his head in close and kissed Fred's cheek, earning a smile. 

The door closed behind them and Fred found himself staring into the depths of the Pensieve. He put his hands down onto the desk in front of him, too tired to hold up all his weight by himself. Standing there, he took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

"I wish we could go back to that." A soft voice called out. He wasn't expecting anyone else to be there; his gut tells him to turn and face them, wand at the ready. What he saw terrified him.

Cedric was there, only it wasn't really him. He was floating a short distance off the ground and was a greyish-silver color. 

But everything else was perfect. He was wearing the same uniform he had been wearing the last time most had seen him alive. His beautiful grey eyes shone through even in comparison to the rest of him. The hair was the same organized mess it had the tendency to be. Fred stepped forward. There was still one thing missing. 

"Can you smile for me?" He did. It was there.

The one dimple and raised left side.

Fred instinctively started running his fingers through his hair, unsure of what else to do. Part of him wanted to cry while the other wanted nothing more than to smile the biggest smile he'd seen in months. He decided to just look at the apparition in front of him. It was unbelievable to him. 

"Can you pinch me to make sure this is real?" A few more steps were taken.

"I would if I could." Cedric shrugged his shoulders and just gazed over at him lovingly. 

Fred let out a laugh, liked he'd been petrified to release it before. Then his face transitioned to one of dejection.

"I'm sorry this happened to you." It felt like such a ridiculous thing to say. Of course he was sorry. A day hadn't passed since last June that he wasn't sorry. 

"I'm sorry I left you without saying goodbye." Cedric joined in on the disheartenment.

"Don't say that. You didn't choose to-" Fred can't bring himself to finish the sentence. The word that completed the sentence wasn't necessary. They both knew what had happened. Accuracy wasn't worth the price of saying it out loud. A silence fell over them.

Choosing to be the first to break it, Cedric drifted closer to Fred.

"You should go. I'll be here waiting for you when you get back." 

"Come with me, stay with me." He had never sounded so desperate before. 

The ghost didn't respond; he just lifted one of his hands and held it in front of him. Like it was some reflex within him forcing him to do, Fred took his own hand and held it up against the transparent one. Just as they had done in the memory. 

"I'll see you next week." The redhead said weakly, craving an excuse to stay there, to never leave. There were none. He had no choice. 

He backed out of the office slowly, never breaking eye contact.


	4. Four.

There's nothing that can prepare you for seeing the ghost of your soulmate for the first time. That is an experience that hits you with every emotion on the Earth all at once. There's the happiness, seeing them again, truly seeing them. Looking into their misty eyes as you already had a million times before. The pain comes next. It's knowing that no matter how real they look, you can never embrace them again, your hands will never come together as one again, your final kiss is long in the past. Anger overcomes you as well. That manifests in the feeling of indignation that comes from the notion that it isn't fair that they have to be dead while you're standing in front of them, alive.

Fred struggled to contain these emotions in the days following. He wanted to tell people what he had seen, who had come to visit him. But at the same time, it scared him. A part of him didn't want anyone else to know. Cedric was his secret to keep; there was obviously a reason he had chosen to reveal himself in privacy. He had always been popular. The Hufflepuffs adored him and all the girls swooned over him constantly. He was often never seen without his closest friends by his side. While all of that was undeniably true, Cedric also liked the quiet. He could often be found tucked away in the library or curled up next to a tree on the grounds. Not many people knew just how much he liked it. Fred was one of them. 

One night Cedric had invited him out to that spot they loved so much. It was just when the sun was starting to submerge itself below the horizon. The sky had already started to fill itself with stars, pushing through the dark shades orange and pink to show off their light. The pair didn't have long before they would have to return to the school; Professor Snape would never accept stargazing as a valid excuse to be wandering about. The precious little time they did have, however, was beautiful. Fred relaxed on the ground, staring up at the sky, arms behind his head and one leg on top of the other. Cedric was standing next to him. He was pointing upwards at the different faded constellations, listing off their names and what they represented. Astronomy was one of his favorite classes at Hogwarts, though he was never obnoxious about it. He showed his love for the subject subtly, through helping other students fill out their star charts and any other homework they struggled with. The patience he had when they repeatedly answered incorrectly was one of Fred's favorite things about him. He would never admit how jealous he was of that trait.

"Look up there, that's where the Gemini usually shows up, it's just too dark."

"Where? I just see loads of tiny white spots." Fred was laughing, entertained by how passionate he was.

Cedric himself then grinned as he reached an arm out to Fred, who took it and was lifted to a standing position. The redhead was lightly moved by the shoulder to face the direction of the stars he was meant to be seeing. 

"Can you see them now?"

"Nope." He smirked at his ineptitude.

Cedric had been more than happy to help. They stood side by side. Then, sliding his hand over Fred's, he pulled their arms up together, and he pointed one finger towards the constellation he was talking about. 

"I think I see it. Still looks like a mess to me, though. How'd you get so good at finding them?" Fred turned to face Cedric and moved his hands to hold his waist.

"Practice, lots of practice." They kissed as the stars came closer to watch, getting brighter to signal the day's end. 

That was the Cedric he remembered well. The world seemed to have welcomed him no matter where he found himself, but the softer moments in life were where he flourished. There he could show what he cared about without fear of an onlooker's judgement. He would show you exactly where the planets were with a flicker in his eye that wouldn't exist around a crowd. He was happy around people, and he loved to joke around, though nothing was more genuine than being with him alone. Especially when he was with the object of his affections. So it made perfect sense that he would show himself to Fred and Fred only.

The morning after Cedric returned to him was unfortunately awkward. Fred always went to breakfast with George, who would then ask him the same questions every day. He always wanted to know how he was feeling, how he slept, if he had anything planned for the day, and most importantly to George, how he could help. The responses became quite standard. The feeling was never above 'okay' and never below 'could be better'. He hated doing it, but he felt lying about sleep was necessary. George finding out was the last thing he wanted. That would only lead to pain for his twin, an almost unbearable thought. There was never anything planned, only going to class, doing minimal homework, and staying in the common room. The plea for a way to help was the most complicated question. The answer was far from obvious, far from simple. The best one he could provide was that he appreciated anything George did for him. It felt like a lazy response to him. Still, it satisfied his brother, so it was good enough. 

One thing he spared from telling George was about Cedric. Occasionally he would share some small details about the memory he had visited or even just a random association he had made between his lost love and some aspect of Hogwarts life. The ghost was another story. Nobody would know about that, and nobody included George. 

There was one person Fred had been doing his best to avoid for the longest time, and that was Harry. They had avoided each other all summer and that behavior had migrated with them to school. Occasional eye contact was met with an uncomfortable shifting of body. They brought horrible memories out of each other, ones that they'd much rather have suppressed for the rest of time. 

That changed when Fred heard what Harry had said to Umbridge.

He'd already served his detentions for doing the same, but to share yet another connection with Harry went beyond that. Everything in his mind was pushing him, edging him closer to a conversation. So on the Saturday following Cedric's reappearance, Fred made his approach. 

He found Harry with Ron and Hermione sat down on the couches, huddled around the fire in the Gryffindor common room. They all turned around at once when they heard someone approaching, and their reactions to seeing who it was were all unique. Ron gave a meek smile towards his brother, the same half-smile you give your family when they start talking to you about things you couldn't care less about. He was cautiously more genuine than that, though he didn't put forth much effort into hiding the awkwardness he felt. Hermione, known for her intuition, immediately glanced over at Harry, a worried expression plastered on her face. She knew about the twisted dynamic between her best friend and Fred. And yet, she said nothing to alleviate the restlessness pulsing through the room. Harry tensed up, though he looked as though he was trying his best to hide it. His jaw clenched and his shoulders bunched up slightly, yet his face remained neutral as he stared ahead. None spoke.

"Harry, can I talk to you? Alone?" Fred asked, moving his eyes between Ron and Hermione, narrowly missing the boy in the middle. Both of them understood and left out the portrait together, peeking back a couple more times to get one last look.

Fred moved over and placed himself on the floor directly next to the fireplace. He pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his head on top, staring into the flames. 

"I heard what you did in class the other day."

It took Harry a moment to reply.

"So did I. What you did, I mean." The conversation had lasted only ten seconds and he was already beginning to get flustered. At least, that's what Fred thought was happening. He assumed the worst and had half a mind to just give up and leave the boy alone. Nonetheless, he persisted.

"It's just hard to watch people lie about... him."

"Yeah." The tone was stiff, but it was a start.

"I just wanted to thank you for standing up to her. That's-"

"Do you see him? When you sleep, do you see him?" 

The abrupt question stunned Fred. He knew the answer, of course. And he knew he could rely on the same answers he gave George: white lies. Be that as it may, a piece of him deep down was shouting up to him to stop hiding. It was a personal thing to share. He pushed aside those doubts; if anyone deserved the truth in this, it was Harry.

"Every day in the summer. It was the same thing, the same time, every night. It was like I was reliving that night. It felt like I was there again. Standing with everyone. Cheering. Then you came back with him and everyone started screaming. No matter what, no matter how many times I'd had the dream, I couldn't stop myself from trying to get to him. The dream always stopped when I saw his face. George always had to be there to stop me from screaming."

There's a pause before he finishes. Fred turns his head to finally look at Harry.

"I don't sleep much anymore."

Harry nods, taking in everything he just heard. 

"Sometimes I have to go back to that graveyard and watch him die again. I see other things too, but he's always there. I don't know how to stop them. Have you found anything that helps?" The desperation in his voice was unsettling to Fred. It was just like what George had asked him earlier. Harry would become the second person he failed to provide a sufficient remedy to.

Harry was oblivious to Fred's trips to the Pensieve, just as everyone else was. It was tempting to enlighten the boy on those visits, to share how much they mattered to him, that they were the one thing allowing him to get a single peaceful night of sleep each week. He decided against it. The Pensieve wouldn't be of use to Harry. He didn't have those memories with Cedric.

"Not really."

They weren't in Hogsmeade this time. It was the Quidditch stands, only, it looked different than normal. The maze for the Triwizard Tournament was in its growing stage and was slowly beginning to overtake the pitch. Half the field was occupied by the tall hedges; soon enough they would tower over even the goalposts, it seemed. Games were canceled that year and practices were made obsolete, but the stands weren't closed off to visitors. Fred found himself down below, halfway up the stairs. They beckoned him to continue up higher. He obeyed those wishes and jogged up the remainder of the way, curious as to what he would find. Not that it wasn't obvious.

Fred and Cedric were there, lounged around on the floor of the stands. Cedric had his back against one side of seats. He had his arms behind him to prop himself up. Fred was diagonal from him, at such an angle that he could comfortably rest his legs across Cedric's lap. Surrounding them was a large picnic. It would have been considered an amazing feat that they had managed to carry it all up so high if they weren't gifted with magic. A blanket was spread out beneath them, the corners occasionally lifted by a burst of wind. Four baskets were sitting on top. Two of them had already been opened and their contents were laid out. Plates of sandwiches, nearly all gone, were seen next to the baskets, as was various other food that Fred had nicked from the kitchens. Finished bottles of pumpkin juice were scattered around, left in their place without another reason to care. The contents within the remaining baskets were kept hidden for the time being. 

Fred watched his past self as he walked slowly towards them. He seemed to be afraid of disturbing them, though the possibility of this was non-existent. They stayed exactly where they were as he approached and arranged himself on the seat next to where Cedric's arm was. Part of him felt intrusive, like he needed to put more space between them. But the other part of him defeated those feelings, and he stayed to watch them.

They didn't say much. They talked through other means. One way was through their eyes. Those could speak in their own language. Their eyes told each other every little secret, expelled every confession, and communicated love in fifty million ways that words failed to. 

Fred's eyes meant reassurance; one look into them and apprehension slipped away. The color in his eyes seemed to dance as brightly as his personality did. When he laughed, the dance became more extravagant, pulling you in for the greatest jive you've ever experienced. It was hard to be afraid when those eyes were looking at you. 

Cedric's eyes meant protection; you knew you were safe the moment you made eye contact. They were soft, like the feeling of arms embracing you to keep you from danger. And yet they were firm. They wanted you to be sure you could trust him. The opposing pair welded together in a way that made him the person you put your faith in. His smile only added to that. The skin nearest his eyes always crinkled when he smiled. Seeing that meant you were home. 

When warm brown met with the subtle grey, so much happened at once. 

Eventually, Fred grew tired of the position he was in. His mouth curved into a mischievous smirk as he swung around to make his head and legs switch places. Cedric was caught off guard for a brief time, but once he adapted, he smiled down. The look he got back was a mixture of pride and delight. Fred relaxed deeper into Cedric's lap and hugged one arm around his waist and slipped the other just barely under his shirt, gently touching his bare skin. Cedric exhaled, releasing a tiny laugh. He took his fingers and started running them through Fred's vibrant hair, meticulous in his attempts to touch each individual strand. The two looked deep into each other's eyes; neither dared to break eye contact. Fred happily squeezed onto the parts of Cedric he was holding onto before moving to place multiple kisses along the side of his torso.

I was quite the romantic then, Fred thought to himself, with a hint of sarcasm. 

"Are you worried?" His memory asked aloud.

"About the Second Task? Of course I am." Cedric tilted his head sideways, going a bit stiff.

"I figured you might be. So, I brought you something." 

Fred slowly pushed himself up to his feet and went to investigate the baskets that had been untouched before. He opened the lids to both and revealed the inside: fireworks. It was clear he had been stocking up. There was no way he could have purchased that many all at once. Fred always loved an outrageous spectacle and this was one of his best-planned yet. 

"Hopefully this can take your mind off things."

He worked as fast as he could to light them. The sunset provided a lovely backdrop as they ignited and detonated into gorgeous bursts of color. Beneath the explosions, Fred held out a hand to bring Cedric to his feet. They stood next to each other watching the show. A ball of orange and purple fell towards them as Cedric situated himself behind Fred. He pulled the slightly shorter boy into a hug, his arms hung loosely around the bottom of his neck. A soft kiss was planted on the top of Fred's head.

"Thank you."

"What took you so long to come?" 

Fred was leaned against the wall and sat on the floor back in the office. Cedric was floating in front of Dumbledore's many shelves, staring at all the books he wasn't able to touch. 

"I wanted to make sure you were comfortable first. I guess that was mostly a failure. You looked terrified last week." Cedric cracked a smile, thriving from being able to be the one doing the teasing. Fred shook his head jokingly. 

"Well, I'm glad you're here now."

Cedric drifted closer to his lost love now.

"That was one of your best ideas, you know. It really helped me."

"That was the intention. You had the tendency to make me try and go above and beyond." He smiled now, though it was small. Cedric was frowning opposite him. There was a pause before Fred realized why.

"Sorry. Have. Not had." 

Cedric forced some happiness to return while Fred instinctively began massaging thee scars on his hand. It was something he often did when nothing else distracted him. The ghost noticed.

"Fred, what's wrong with your hand?" He closed in to get a better look.

"Nothing." It was an easy lie to see through. 

"It isn't nothing and you know it." Cedric even tried to reach for Fred's wrist, seeming to forget his lack of physical status in the world. 

It was impossible to continue the deception.

"It was detention. Three days straight. I haven't found anything that helps with the scars yet."

The protective eyes shone through in that moment. Cedric's face twisted into a combination of anxiousness and affection. 

"I wasn't aware I'd still have to keep you out of trouble." They shared a laugh. 

"You'll never be free of that."

The smile finally returned once he heard that. He saw it the week previous, but that was only because he'd requested it. This one was genuine. He had caused it. Just as he always had before. Seeing it again made him certain he never wanted to see it disappear again. 

"Hey, Ced?" 

"Yeah?"

"I'll try my best."


	5. Five.

The latest meeting had a much more profound effect on Fred than he expected. In the days following, he finally started feeling something that resembled happiness.

Smiles came more easily. When Lee made a joke in their dormitory, it wasn't only George laughing. Thoughts of Cedric didn't immediately stop conquering his every waking moment. But the comfort in knowing that his love would always be waiting for him to return eased some of his pain.

George was the first one to notice his change in demeanor. Fred had started consistently joining his friends to hang out in the common room. Before, he preferred to stay hidden away in the dorm, holding that white box full of photos he treasured so much. The day that Fred came walking down the stairs, George's eyes widened and he smiled. Together, they relaxed on the sofa across from Lee and the other Gryffindor girls. Lee cracked a joke towards Angelina and Fred didn't even try to stifle his laughter. The sound he let out made the whole group turn their attention on him. Everyone looked like nothing pleased them more than to see their best friend let a glimpse of his old self return. No one was more delighted than George. He pulled his twin into his arms, resting his chin on top of Fred's shoulder.

Others asked him what had happened as well. He found ways to avoid giving away the true answer. Doing so wasn't easy. With Umbridge unleashing her rule of terror onto the students, there wasn't much for him to be happy about. The first few people who asked only received complete dismissal ("It's nothing," with a smile). But they got more persistent each time they were denied. So Fred decided he needed a consistent story. It wouldn't be too challenging; he was creative, charismatic, and charming. Not to mention that it wasn't likely anyone would try to question him. George would never allow that.

He decided to play on the universal hatred of Umbridge by telling everyone who asked that he was in the process of planning to unleash his biggest prank yet onto the professor. They believed him. Lee started rather enthusiastically demanding details. Fred thought quickly to provide him with copious explanations; he laid out possible dates, all the materials they would need, who would be involved, and most importantly, the actual event. By the time he was done, all the people who sat anywhere near them at the breakfast table were leaning in out of their seats to hear his every word.

After that, word started spreading. Hushed whispers throughout the hallways told that Fred and George Weasley were lighting off a huge explosion in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom sometime in the near future. The whole school was convinced. Nobody asked him about his happiness anymore.

And somehow that brought him comfort.

Hermione approached them soon after with a proposition. She found Fred, George, and Lee lounging about in the common room.

What she had to offer was the potential formation of a club. The idea intrigued the three of them. Even the twins, with their reputation of being excessively careless students, were finding their defensive education this year to be beyond lackluster. The proposal had everything they wanted. There was the idea of rebellion, the excitement of adding a few more spells to their arsenal and having Harry as their teacher, something that resonated within those who had never been in doubt of the boy's honesty. To Fred especially, there was an added incentive. The word that was rapidly becoming ingrained in his internal vocabulary: distraction.

"Do you think it'll be strange? Being taught by someone younger than us, I mean." Lee asked after they had told Hermione of their interest.

"Not when that 'someone younger' has seen twice as much as any of the professors we've ever had." George quipped.

He was right, and Fred knew it. Harry was the best they could ask for.

"Hog's Head, eh? Never been in there before. Heard it's a dodgy place."

Those suspicions proved accurate once they arrived. The three of them were the last of the rather large group to pour into the pub. Most of the others were recognizable to Fred, though a few weren't. He noticed easily that no Slytherins were invited. Not that this upset him in any way; if anything he was pleased. The thought of Draco Malfoy being so desperate for help that he needed lessons from Harry, however, deeply amused him.

The state of the pub made that notion retract instantly from his mind. It didn't matter how desperate he hypothetically could be, someone as pristine as Malfoy would never intentionally station themselves in a place like this. Sawdust coated the floors and all the tables and chairs had a slight grey cast over them that only comes from weeks without proper cleaning. Some of those who had entered with enthusiastic expressions on their faces now were seen with subtle looks of horror as they quickly brushed off their seats before lowering into them. Fred placed himself towards the back left corner of the room, opting to stand. His companions braved the filthy chairs and relaxed down at a table just in front of Fred. Lee simply rested his weight onto its surface while George pushed back and swung his legs up onto the table. He leaned rearwards against his chair and looked up at his brother, smiling.

Everyone that had settled was already enthralled in their conversations, just waiting for the meeting to start. Fred glanced towards the front of the room to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione gathered in a discussion. Harry's nerves were not well-hidden and he was in the process of accosting Hermione for convincing him this was a good idea. Ron, meanwhile, looked unmistakably like a timid child watching their parents fight over what they wanted for dinner.

It was Hermione who eventually stepped forward.

"Hi." That was all she initially could get out. Her voice crackled the slightest amount but then she straightened out her jacket and pressed on.

"We know why we're here. Harry - I mean - I had the idea that those of us who actually want to learn something in Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, something other than what Umbridge is calling her class... well, we should take things into our own hands."

She became more confident as those in front of her became more intrigued.

"We have to learn to defend ourselves. That's more important now than it ever was before. And that's because... that's because Lord Voldemort is back."

Light noise began over all the students; most were still not accustomed to hearing that name. It still scared them. Not Fred. He remained silent.

"Where's the proof he's back?" A voice called out. It came from a boy whom Fred didn't know and quite frankly didn't care to either. People were staring at him, some with an ugly look of disappointment. George was one of those people.

What followed was a debate back and forth regarding the legitimacy of Harry's claims. The boy was revealed to be Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff. That annoyed Fred. How he could deny it when his own housemate had returned dead the year prior stunned him.

But Fred wasn't particularly interested in hearing this discussion. He needed no convincing to put his faith in Harry and the boy seemed like a prick that he had no reason to care about. Instead, Fred just looked sideways out of the window and stared at the empty walkways outside. 

His mind wandered to the memory he had witnessed weeks earlier, the one that had taken place on these very streets. What had he said?

But there are so many places we could go.

That was it. The corner of his mouth bends upwards as he gazes out, watching the wind blow against the shop signs.

His attention is snapped back when he hears Cedric's name.

"All we heard last year was that Cedric Diggory was killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought the body back. That's all we got. Dumbledore never told us how Diggory was murdered, which I think we would all like to know."

"Shove it." George snapped, now leaned forward in his chair, glaring at Zacharias.

"Why? I think it's a fair question."

"I'm warning you. Another word, and you'll be out of Quidditch practices for a week." The whole room was staring at George now, wondering what would happen next. Fred put one hand on his twin's shoulder to steady him, though he was getting just as angry.

Harry took in a deep breath that seemed to announce that his feelings aligned closely with those of Fred and George.

"I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory. If that's why you're here, feel free to leave now."

Nobody moved. George returned to his previous position and Fred cautiously removed his hand.

The discussion continued. There were debates on when and where the meetings should be that Fred was once again mostly uninterested in. He returned his focus outside, where a couple was now walking just outside the window of the Hog's Head. Watching them closely, he noticed their smiles, the way they held onto one another in the cold. He felt more connected to those two students he'd never met than to the majority of the people in the room he was occupying. That was an unsettling feeling.

When it came time to sign the piece of parchment confirming their membership, Fred signed without hesitation.

If for nothing else, he just wanted to stick it to that Hufflepuff bastard.

The first real meeting of Dumbledore's Army, as it was branded, was relatively easy. They were split off into pairs to work on the Disarming Charm. That was a spell Fred was already well-off with; it was the concept of getting to stun George an endless amount of times made him grin obnoxiously.

"Don't go easy on me." He told his brother as they spaced apart.

"Why would I?"

"I figured you might have a soft spot for me."

George cocked his eyebrow up and scoffed playfully.

"I do. And that changes nothing. Expelliarmus!"

With no time to react, Fred's wand was forced out of his hand and sent rolling across the floor. He pretended to be offended by this familial betrayal as he moved to retrieve it.

"How could you? I wasn't ready."

"Hence why I did it. I'm helping you learn."

Fred quietly laughed and prepared to return the favor. These interactions with his brother were what he was most thankful to have back. Gaining back some of his original happiness meant that those witty remarks came to him much easier.

They took turns with the spell. A game was even started; they wanted to see who launch the other's wand highest into the air.

Fred won. George was not pleased.

They took a break to talk to each other, which also provided an opportunity to get a good look at how everyone else was doing. Of all the people who commanded his attention, Fred's eyes landed on Zacharias Smith, who was sending Anthony Goldstein running for his wand.

"Ready for more?" George asked, a cocky smirk painted onto his face.

Eyes still glued onto Zacharias, he replied, "Give me a moment."

He carefully pointed his wand at the Hufflepuff boy and seconds later, Zacharias was knocked onto the floor by the power of Fred's non-verbal Stunning Spell.

"I'm ready."

He was surprised it had taken this long for one of the memories to take place in that spot by the lake. It wasn't that he didn't think of it often; the photos in his dorm brought back other memories. But the Pensieve was different. It wasn't just remembering what had happened, it was being there in the moment. When he looked at the photos and a certain conversation came to mind, all he had was the noise pouring from his and Cedric's lips. He could hear the words, yes, but that wasn't enough. In the Pensieve, it went so much further than that.

There, Fred could feel the delights or the woes of the weather. If it was sunny, he felt the golden rays coming down onto him, filling him with joy. Depending on the duration of the memory and the temperature of the day, his pale skin may even start to feel as if it was burning. This was not the case; the Pensieve was not complex enough to allow the past to make its physical mark. If it was cold, he was at the mercy of being unable to bring a jacket. The heavy wind would come through and cause goosebumps to rise on his skin. He would have to hug his arms around his torso, bitter and jealous of his past self and his weather appropriate outfit. Despite these problems, Fred would never complain about the time spent inside those memories. He cherished every single second.

This week was a strange weather day. It seemed to be a mixture of summer sun and winter's unforgiving nature. The warmth of the sun co-existed with the chilling breeze. And added to that was a light mist from the lake, next to which sat Fred and Cedric.

They were leaned up against a decently sized tree just a short distance from the water. Fred was in Cedric's arms, positioned comfortably between the legs of the taller boy. Cedric draped both his arms loosely onto Fred and had their heads leaned close together. Small little kisses were occasionally pressed around the ginger's temple, causing both of them to smile. Fred was absentmindedly playing with Cedric's fingers, tracing incoherent messages onto them.

"I should thank you." The redhead said with confidence.

"Why?"

"For not letting me drown in that lake." That caused Cedric to bring a small grin forward onto his face.

"I would never. You should know me better than that." He moved to kiss the top of Fred's head and pulls his arms closer around his neck. That doesn't stop the other boy from continuing to play with his hands.

"Obviously. Just wanted to make sure that my appreciation was well-documented."

Ever the little twat I was, the real Fred thought to himself. He was sat on a small boulder in front of them, latching onto every word.

Cedric sighed blissfully and looked up to the sky.

"It is, trust me. And I app- did you just trace what I think you did?" His gaze is brought back down.

Fred was doing his best to hold back laughter. He bit his lip and looked off to the side.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Cedric decided he wanted to stand up and was strong enough to hoist Fred up with him.

"C'mon, follow me."

He grabbed Fred's hand and takes off at a quick jog, dragging his beloved after him. The real Fred stood up as fast as he could to chase after.

They didn't stop until they were standing exactly in their spot. Cedric stopped so fast it was a miracle he wasn't crashed into. Fred must have had a feeling this was where they were going. This was where they always ended up.

"What was that for?" Fred asked, catching his breath from the sudden exercise.

Cedric turned around and gently grabbed Fred's face, holding it in his hands.

"Say it out loud."

"Say what out loud?"

"You know exactly what I-"

"I love you."

Both Cedric and the present time Fred grinned at the same time. Past Fred joined them once he realized what he had done. He leaned forward to kiss the boy, his arms wrapping around him. They were together as one, nobody else to bother them, in the place that had become a second home.

Cedric pulled back smiling.

"I love you too."

No sooner had he finished the words were they back together again, lips meeting each other as if they had been separated for a very long time. They somehow got closer, any space between them ceasing to exist. Cedric could feel Fred's heartbeat and Fred could match Cedric's breathing. Nothing would break their synchronization.

It was the happiest either of them had ever been.

Fred emerged from the Pensieve feeling elated. Of everything he had seen thus far, this was the most important, the one he held dearest. A confession like that is rare.

"I never had any doubts that you meant it. Not one." Cedric said happily.

Fred had decided to make a habit of being sat leaned up against the wall when he talked to his dearly departed. It even seemed rude to do something the ghost was incapable of doing himself. But he wanted to be comfortable for these little talks. He wanted Cedric to know he was comfortable.

"I still do. In case you were wondering."

Cedric chuckled.

"I know."

A silence fell between them. A question comes to Fred's mind.

"What do you do when I'm not here?"

"Nothing, really. I wait. Stare of bookshelves full of books I can't touch. Look at chairs I can't sit in. It's a bit dull actually." His face shows a hint of humor but everything he said was so truthful he had to be mostly serious.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to be bored all the time for me. I think I'd strangle you if you made me live like that."

Live, he had said. Suppose it's not truly living.

Cedric drifts over to him.

"Don't worry. The wait is worth it. I promise."

That gets Fred to smile. The ghost presses on.

"How have you been? Answer honestly."

It makes the redhead beyond relieved that he doesn't have to lie anymore. He can be genuine. And Cedric was bound to be proud of him for this.

"Really great, actually. I've been a lot happier. George and Lee can get me to laugh again."

He was right. Those misty grey eyes got big and seemed to light up.

"That's amazing, Freddie. You deserve that. Nobody deserves it more than you do."

Fred looks down at his legs for a few seconds.

"You do." He's assertive in his response, but he's still grinning.

"I am happy."

"Why?"

"I'm talking to you."


	6. Six

Colder months instilled exasperated grumblings and constant complaints in the lifestyles of most people, but the students of Hogwarts were different. The notion of winter meant more to them than seeing the first snows and running between classes to avoid the cold.   
Winter meant Quidditch season.   
Fred, along with the rest of the team, loved the energy in the air before a match. The houses that were competing often had less than ideal sportsmanship. Players were heckled in the halls, loud debates about strategy were had in the halls, and threats of a jinx were never out of the question. The teams were treated like celebrities by their own houses. Younger students looked at with such admiration and longing while older students nodded with respect. The Great Hall was full of the sweaters of the opposing teams, dual-colored scarves wrapped around the necks of all the attendees. Signs were made from desperate procrastination the night prior; some were even being made in a hurry hours before the match. Friends and siblings sat together for breakfast, sharing their excitement over a plate of toast. It was an environment of endearing chaos, a perfect place for someone like Fred Weasley.   
But it wasn't anymore. He had come down with George and the rest of their group, but he felt isolated from them the moment they opened those doors. Two years ago, all these people would have been cheering for him. He had a second family in the team. There was no doubt that he could still consider them his best friends, yet this wasn't his family anymore. He had abandoned them when they still needed him to hang on. He was the one who walked away, the one who had chosen himself over his teammates, the one who gave up. Angelina had begged him to stay and he preferred to walk away. It was clear in his mind; the celebrations occurring in the hall had absolutely nothing to do with him.  
The guilt he had experienced before returned as they took their seats. Looking at the faces of his friends as they laughed and prepared only worsened it. Fred was placed where he always was, next to George, with no one close on his right. The food in front of him would have looked immaculate in a normal situation, but no day since that fateful summer evening had provided him with a normal situation. Instead, he took only a modest amount and ate slowly, pacing himself to listen in on the conversations. A smile was forced if attention was brought to him and that was enough to convince everyone he was alright. Mostly everyone, that is.  
George had a way of knowing when something was wrong. It wasn't a recent skill picked up from the months of soothing Fred's outbursts of grief; he had always been able to tell. This time seemed to be taking him longer than usual to detect. George's attention was largely focused on his teammates and his meal. He joked around with all of them, Ron most of all. Amusement was found in recounting horror stories of years past to intimidate his younger brother. Fred kept out of the way, opting instead to listen and find something to reminisce over. He nearly succeeded.  
"Hey, Fred," Lee leaned towards him. "You're coming today, right?"  
Everyone stared at him, waiting for an answer, something he didn't have. George gave him a look that conveyed his worry. He knew.  
It was a conflict. Everything about Quidditch reminded him of Cedric. It was painful to even think about it. Despite the happiness that had started to come back in his life, the pain was inevitable. At some points, Fred wasn't even convinced it was happiness, just an improvement in his skills in hiding how he truly felt. The guilt and apprehension he was feeling now only persuaded him further that his theory was true. Attending the game was a gamble; it could either bring him comfort or tear down the foundation he had laid on his path of recovery. That chance alone would have been enough to keep him from going. Something else, however, was making it difficult.   
His brothers.   
They meant the world to him. George, his best friend since birth, the one he had been through so much with, deserved better. The two had spent four years playing as the best pair of Beaters the school had ever seen. Fred already felt bad enough leaving him with some random Gryffindor that Angelina had found last minute. They did everything together. To refuse to go watch one of his last matches? He would never forgive himself.   
And Ron, his baby brother who was already terrified of facing his first game, deserved to have all the support he could get. Guilt and fear and pressure were all things they had in common. Ron needed him more than ever before. Even if a thousand reasons were screaming at him to stay away, Ron was the only one he needed to go.   
Fred looked back at Lee.  
If anything, he reasoned with himself, it's something to tell Cedric when I see him again.  
"I'll be there."

Ginny was the one who walked down to the stands with him; she was the only one close to him who wasn't already there. After everyone from the team left the Great Hall, it was Ginny who approached him and invited him to stay with her in the stands. Fred was quick to accept. He loved his sister with every ounce of his being, just as he did his brothers. The proposal became even more difficult to deny when she promised she would personally make sure he wasn't bothered.   
"C'mon. I won't let the first years pick on you." She said, a mischievous smirk plastered on her face. Her fist gently punching him on the shoulder forced a smile to come through.  
"They wouldn't dare. You're terrifying."  
There was a light in her eyes when she heard that. Looking up at him happily, she sighed, just watching her brother's expression, searching for an excuse to get him to talk about everything.   
But the thing about Ginny Weasley is that she never needed an excuse to do something; she just did. As carefully as possible, she rested her head onto Fred's shoulder and wrapped her arms around his torso.  
"I know this is hard for you, but I'm really happy you're going. So is George, and Ron. Mum will be, too."  
He took his arm and cradled her head, fingers gently stroking her hair.  
"Thank you."   
Ginny shifted upward to be sitting in front of Fred. Hands were placed onto his shoulders. The girl's brown eyes pierced through him, telling him that all of her attention was on him, that nobody else mattered more to her.  
"I love you, Freddie. I'm here for you, we all are. We just can't wait to see you happy again."  
A wordless pause.   
"But for now, let's go watch our brothers crush Slytherin." Ginny stood up and held out her arm. Fred took it without reluctance, and they started their walk.

The two siblings managed to get a spot in the front of the stands, though not by luck. Ginny was able to create a passionate enough argument for them taking over the prime seating. The younger students who had previously occupied it were either too frightened or too overwhelmed to bother fighting it. They slumped off towards the back and joined a larger group of boys who were a similar age. The shocked stares in Ginny's direction did not go unnoticed.   
"When did you get so scary?" Fred asked with an eyebrow raised.  
"When I needed to."   
Before he could think of a witty response, the teams were strutting onto the Quidditch pitch. Everyone surrounding Fred burst into applause and cheers, though he stayed relatively quiet. He chose to take a good look around and take in the atmosphere. A smile escaped him. It was difficult to allow himself to relax and have fun. He hesitated, not believing he had any right to be content standing up with the crowds instead of being there with his team. That smile refused to listen. It pushed through the doubt and the apprehension, past the endless accumulation of restlessness lodged in his body. Fred was allowed a brief moment of peace, a glimpse of how it felt to be truly alive again.   
The events of the game made him question the decision to go. Ron let in goal after goal, and every time he did, the Slytherin supporters grew more and more ruthless. The guilt returned quickly. Fred couldn't force himself to be absorbed into the jovial environment that was calling out. He could only think about how Ron deserved to have both of his brothers out there supporting him. Actually supporting him. There was nothing for him to do in the stands. His presence would be met with polite graciousness but it still felt so hollow. Every time the Quaffle slipped past his brother's fingers, Fred just wanted to be out there with George, sending Bludgers towards the head of as many opponents possible. That nagging feeling took him out of the present and caused him to stand there blankly, swarmed by what felt like a million different thoughts.   
It was then that Fred realized he couldn't exist without some kind of internal conflict. Every moment he lived through challenged his mentality. Quidditch was no longer something that comforted him. He couldn't enjoy reading about or hearing his brothers talk about it without thinking of either Cedric or his teammates. Fred wanted Cedric to be there playing against him so they could tease each other about it the next day. He wanted to be there to help Ron. Everyone else wanted him to come to matches so they could see him start returning to normal again. He knew better than to believe that was possible. Even Cedric's return brought contradiction. Being able to look into those soft grey eyes and see that signature smile was keeping him stable. The new conversations they had served as an incentive to keep going. Yet, he knew that the longer he kept speaking to Cedric, the harder it was becoming for him to be able to move on.  
Not that he really wanted to anyways.   
The present beckoned him back just as the Slytherin's were chanting an obnoxious song.

Weasley cannot save a thing,   
He cannot block a single ring,   
That's why Slytherins all sing:   
Weasley is our King.   
Ginny hit his arm to grab his attention, though it wasn't necessary. He was already staring. They seemed to get louder and louder with every passing second.

Weasley was born in a bin.  
He always lets the Quaffle in.  
Weasley will make sure we win.  
Weasley is our King.

They reached their highest volume when Ron let yet another goal in. The nearby Gryffindors started complaining. At his best, Fred would have threatened them without hesitation. This time he was focused both on listening to the horrible lyrics and on watching his brother.

Weasley is our King,  
Weasley is our King,   
He always lets the Quaffle in   
Weasley is our King.

Just when things were looking worse and worse, it ended. The Gryffindors erupted into raucous noise, a welcome change from the stoic silence many had been holding onto for too long. Lee's voice rang over the stadium; Harry had caught the Snitch.  
Fred sighed a breath of relief. It was over. No more snide comments to Ron, no more maddening songs from the Slytherins. They had won, and they could move on.  
Or at least, that was what he thought until they started to leave and Ginny grabbed his arm.   
"What are George and Harry doing?"  
What he saw horrified him. His twin was bolting for Draco Malfoy alongside Harry. Other people were beginning to take notice as well.   
Fred's heart started beating almost as hard as it had the night of his attempted Quidditch practice. He refused to break eye contact, breathing getting heavier as he watched the two boys start punching Draco ruthlessly.  
Without another thought, he moved to push past the hordes of students. Ginny tried following but was swallowed up by the sheer amount of taller people on every side. Fred had one mission.  
He had to make it back to George.

Even when he escaped the swarms of students in the stadium, there was no sign of George. A thorough search gave him no new ideas. He wasn't with the team; they were walking back towards the school, frantic looks plastered on their faces. Fred ignored them and walked as briskly as he could manage, heading straight for the dormitories.   
Nobody was inside. That had already been assumed; the dormitories were always empty after a victory. Those who cared about their team would be starting a celebration down in the common room. It would likely last hours, hours that Fred wanted little part of. He would wait as long as he had to see George. His twin's absence was eating him alive. Nothing would have kept him from the team by his own free will. Fred remembered how they acted after a win in years past. The announcement of the score brought them straight back down to the ground, brooms tossed aside, eyes widened. The brothers would run at one another and would almost jump into an embrace. They always held each other so tightly; it was a miracle neither were hurt.  
And when the team left the pitch, they always stayed with. All seven of them strode out as champions, powered by the ceaseless feeling of ecstasy. Together they walked into the common room as royals, the spectators their loyal subjects. It was an indescribable experience; attempts could be made, but nothing would capture just how important those moments were to everyone. Each member of the team was at their happiest. Angelina didn't have to remind herself to unclench her jaw; the tension she had been holding onto vanished. The dimple in Katie's cheek became a permanent characteristic of her face. Alicia got the confidence to attempt to tell Lee some jokes. Though they were full of predictable punchlines and a less-than refined set-up, she still got everyone to laugh. Fred and George stayed up to their usual antics. The festivities only pushed them further into greatness.  
Those memories were what was worrying Fred. He knew George would've been with his team.   
He knew something was wrong.

Many minutes passed before Fred was given any company in the dormitory. He passed time by looking through his pictures of Cedric, which were hastily stashed away at the sound of footsteps.   
George came through the door. His face should have been plastered with a smile but instead, it was painted with discomposure. Eyes were widened, as they had been in Fred's memories, but it was different. This time they were wide with dread where before it would have been euphoria. The team never had perfect hair following a match, but George's was especially disheveled. It wasn't difficult to see why. He walked in with his fingers running aggressively through his ginger locks like it was the only thing keeping him from losing control.   
Fred said nothing, just rushed forth to take his brother in his arms. George squeezed him hard, with a grip so intense it left imprints in his skin. Their breathing patterns began to line up. Fred's caught up with the other's, determined to share whatever pain he held.   
Two hands slid up to hold George's face, two eyes pierced into his, looking for an answer. His eyebrows furrow and there's a tilt to his head. The search is pointless.  
"What happened?"  
George struggles to keep eye contact. His eyes flicker all over the room, darting between the ceiling, the walls, and the beds erratically.   
"I'm off the team. Done, for the rest of the year. So is Harry." His tone is a mixture of grief and agitation. It was unlike anything Fred had ever seen in his twin before. Not that it was a completely unfamiliar feeling; Fred had been living with it all summer.   
Everything happening was the antithesis of what had been normal. Instead of rejoicing, they were in mourning. The hug they shared was out of desperation, not celebration.   
George broke down. Tears welled up in his eyes. He buried his head into Fred's shoulder and his grip got harder. The skin on his knuckles turned pale from all the pressure. Fred was so close to him that he felt himself moving up and down with each one of his brother's shallow breaths.  
He didn't know what else to say.  
It was strange being the one to comfort.

As horrible as it sounds, Fred spent the next days so focused on helping George that he nearly forgot about his meeting in Dumbledore's office.   
Staring into the Pensieve usually brought anticipation and hope, but as he submerged his head beneath the water, he felt quite empty.  
It did not help that the memory for this week was taking place in the exact same place as the source of his pain: the Gryffindor dormitory.  
Nothing was out of the ordinary, nothing existed to signify a difference between the world he lived in and the one he had stepped into. There was the same organized mess surrounding his bed. George's bed still had their merchandise tucked underneath.   
Fred took a few careful steps to get to his trunk and then proceeded to investigate its contents. The clothes were still the same, as were the textbooks. Everything felt the same. He started to think he'd made a mistake, that it was possible this was just something that happened.   
Then he spotted the crucial difference; the box of photos was missing.  
And then the painfully obvious difference came to him. 

Hidden halfway underneath the covers in his bed were himself and Cedric. They looked so at ease, lying there in each other's presence. It almost made Fred uncomfortable; watching people sleep wasn't exactly something he considered normal.  
Yet he couldn't stop himself from standing at the foot of the bed, with one hand grabbing onto one of the posts to steady himself.   
Fred was in Cedric's arm. The Hufflepuff boy had one of his arms tucked underneath Fred's while the other was loosely thing around his shoulder, fingers reached up to run through his hair. Their eyes would have been looking right at each other if they had been awake. That had been their tradition; neither fell asleep unless they were looking into each other's eyes. It always amazed Fred how much his relationship with Cedric felt like it came straight out of a Muggle romance novel, like the ones Hermione mentioned hating one time. Everything was so perfect for them. It amazed him even more that he was a part of it. He never expected to find himself in such an endearing love affair.  
Then again, he never expected to fall in love with someone as hard as he fell for Cedric.

Another curious thought came to him. He'd never seen Cedric sleep before. It was always him who fell asleep first. Cedric insisted on making sure everything was alright before he closed his beautiful grey eyes. He was meticulous where Fred was spontaneous.   
Everyone looks peaceful when they sleep, but Cedric exemplified that best. One look at him and you could maybe be convinced there was nothing wrong in the world. A hint of a smile was creeping onto his lip. It reminded Fred of the mischievous little smirks he would send towards Cedric whenever he told an intentionally bad joke.   
The real Fred sighed. He just wanted to hear Cedric's voice alongside his. He wanted to hear how groggy they sounded when they first woke up. He wanted to see that dazed look in their eyes when they figured out their surroundings.  
He wanted more than this.   
But that was the problem with feeling empty.  
You don't have much to provide.

"I still can't believe you convinced me to do that."  
Fred was slouched up against the wall, head tilted up to look towards the ceiling. He was playing around with his fingers, focus not all there.   
"I can't believe you agreed. A Prefect breaking rules. Did you take house points off from yourself?"  
Cedric softly shook his head.   
"No. But I did take some away from this boy who practicing some spells in the corridor. Normally, I would've let it go but the guilt was just tearing me up."   
He chuckled as he explained, but his tone made it sound completely sincere. Fred hadn't liked making Cedric go against his ideals, but he couldn't help it that rules had never mattered much to him anyway.  
Fred broke into a tiny smile as his love told him about his horrible guilt. Cedric joined him, flashing that gorgeous smile, showcasing the one dimple.   
That inspires Fred.   
"Did I ever tell you how lovely your smile is?"  
He gets the feeling that if Cedric hadn't been a ghost, his cheeks would have turned a bright red. Instead, the boy bites his lip and looks towards the ground.  
"I don't think so."  
Forcing himself up to a standing position, he moves over to stand directly in front of him.  
"Well, I should've. Because it's wonderful."  
Even when Fred felt empty, that smile could do something to him. He continued.  
"Can you show it to me as much as possible?" That was a confident question.  
"I don't want you getting tired of it."  
Always so considerate, so thoughtful.  
"That's impossible."  
Cedric drifts backward, crossing his arms playfully, corner of his mouth perked up.  
"You'll have to give me a reason to smile."  
Fred starts advancing on him, a cocky smirk coming to his lips.  
"I can do that."


	7. Seven

The holidays were rapidly approaching, and the weather continued to reflect that. It had been cold during the Quidditch match, but the snow was becoming a daily occurrence. Snow brought an entirely different atmosphere to Hogwarts. It looked welcoming, even more than usual. The beauty of the castle rooftops covered in that uncontrollable white blanket was unmatched.  
Fred studied it from inside the comfort of the dormitory. He sat next to the window and peered both down below at students walking and up above at the occasional owl flying in, fighting against the harsh winds to deliver their news. The snow beat against the glass, turning to water and running down like mournful tears.  
The little white box with the photos was brought out again. His favorite was still on top, where it belonged. Each time that lid was lifted off, Fred was greeted with Cedric's smile. If he closed his eyes, he could take himself back to that day, remember the details all over again. But here, the photo had a different purpose. It was delicately peeled away from the pile and the box was set aside.   
Fred stood in front of the window, the photo in between two fingers of his left hand, his right gracefully reaching in front of him to touch the glass. He gave it a few firm taps like he was testing it to ensure it wouldn't break. Once it was deemed safe, he raised his left hand and pressed the photo to the window, holding it up only by his thumb. A few short paces were taken backward; he wanted a better look.   
Because as pathetic as it may have seemed to anyone who saw him, doing this was one of the only things he could do that helped him remember how Cedric looked in the winter. It gave him the tiniest clue as to how the boy looked when the snow flurries got into his feathery brunette locks, how he looked when his cheeks turned red after staying out in the cold too long, how he looked when he exhaled out a deep breath and watched it appear back in front of him as he leaned forward to place a kiss on Fred's lips.   
He remembered how happy Cedric always looked.   
He still did, even as a ghost. Fred could barely comprehend how that was possible.  
Nonetheless, he was grateful.   
So incredibly grateful.

George managed to convince Fred to come outside during one of their free periods. It was snowing even more than usual. Within seconds of being exposed to the climate both of their coats were covered in the little flurries. Aggressive brushes were futile; anything shoved off returned immediately.   
"What are you dragging me out here for?"  
George responded with a soft chuckle, moving closer to sling an arm around the other's shoulder.  
"Am I not allowed to enjoy some quality time with my dear brother?"  
Fred merely rolled his eyes, hiding a smirk, and kept walking. He was lead through the courtyard and over the covered bridge until they were far enough from the castle for them to be all alone. The field of grass situated in front of the owlery was now a giant patch of snow.   
"I hope you didn't bring me here to make snow angels." An eyebrow is raised.  
George shakes his head and a smile appears on his face.  
'No. Not snow angels. I wanted to build a snowman with you."  
Fred can't hold back a snort as he hears it. He stops when he doesn't his twin laughing with him.  
"You're serious?"  
"Of course! If there's one thing I'm serious about, Freddie, it's snowmen. C'mon, let's get to work."  
It was insisted that they use no magic in their creation. The cold almost made Fred protest that demand, but if it meant pleasing George, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.   
The process took them about half an hour. Each dedicated themselves to rolling their own portion. The bulk of the work was taken up by George, who was noticeably more enthusiastic about the activity. Fred loosened up as the minutes passed. The boys made a point to try to push around the balls of snow as fast as they possibly could. They raced past one another, bumping the other on the shoulder as they drifted by. When they grew tired of that, a spot was chosen for their production, and the different layers were hoisted up.   
George wasn't quite satisfied just yet.  
"Come with me, maybe there's some sticks near the trees."  
The two of them wandered over to the edge of the forest, over to the closest trees. They knelt to the ground and started sifting through a mixture of snow and dirt.   
"How are you doing? And don't lie to me." George wasted no time in asking, as he started collecting some twigs suitable for decoration. Fred was mindlessly pushing away the snow when his attention was brought back.  
"I'm alright, really. I think I'm finally starting to feel better." It was true. He had no reason to hide the truth because for once the truth was good.   
"Good. But if I figure out you're lying, I'll have no choice other than to hex you."   
George sent a wink Fred's way, then seconds later he gave his twin a gentle shove that was enough to knock him back into the snow.   
"That was just a warning. Grab those two stones there, will ya? My hands are full." There was a mischievous grin on his lips as he raised his arms to show that this was not the case.   
Fred couldn't help but smile with him, albeit a much smaller smile. It was nice to see George in such a good mood considering that the news of his Quidditch ban was not yet in the far past. He didn't consider this for long, however. Getting to his feet, he picked up the stones that had been requested and trudged back to their snowman.   
George was already in the process of carefully placing a rather evil-looking smile onto its face. When he saw Fred approaching, a hand was held out. Instead of making it easy for his brother, Fred tossed the stones over at him without warning. One was caught, the other naturally fumbled.   
"Very funny," George teased as he leaned over for the other. With both in his hands, they were pressed into the snowman as eyes.  
"Not a very happy looking bloke, is he?" Fred was peering closely at it, face partially scrunched up.  
"That's the idea."   
George started taking off his hat and scarf to wrap around the snowman. The scarf was neatly tied around its neck and the hat was pulled just above the eyes.   
A wand was pulled out from his coat and pointed directly at the top of the snowman's head. With a single flick, the knitted hat turned from a dark maroon to an obnoxious shade of pink.   
"It's a good thing Mum will be making us new ones soon." George quipped, smirking as he did the same to the scarf.   
Fred had no idea what that meant. It was difficult to see what his twin was planning. That kind of observation was never a necessary skill; they always plotted their schemes together.  
An arm was reached across his chest and then the two of them were backing up until they were a good distance away. It wasn't challenging to see that the wand hadn't yet been put away.  
Another good look was given to the snowman. Fred let out a chuckle. The amusement of an ugly, undersized tower of snow dressed in pink was not one a person had the opportunity to see every day. Then it dawned on him.  
Ugly, little, dressed in prink. Sound like somebody we know?  
He turns to his right to find George pointing his wand directly at the miniature replica of Umbridge. That same smirk from before had only intensified.  
"Use Incendio. I want to put on a bit of a pyrotechnical display."  
Fred scrambled to retrieve his wand. With it in his hand, he joined George.  
"On my count. 3, 2, 1.."  
Both spells went off in cooperation. Incendio quickly started to melt through the packed snow, incinerating the newly pink winter accessories. George's use of Bombarba sent chunks flying in every direction, making them join up with the flakes still falling from the sky.   
They looked to each, matching grins and all, before striding over to the spot where 'Umbridge' had once stood. Only a tiny portion on the bottom remained intact.   
George looked to Fred as if asking for permission. When nothing was said to stop him, he pulled his leg back and kicked all that remained, sending it flying off in pieces.   
He let out a sigh and, as he had before, wrapped an arm around Fred.  
"That felt good."

The final meeting of Dumbledore's Army before the holiday consisted only of review. The trip outside in the snow had since made joking around much easier for Fred, particularly with George. They were at their happiest around each other. It felt stupid to Fred that he hadn't realized it before. Who had been the one who stayed with him every night, through every nightmare? Who had been there that night he broke down in the dorms? It was always George. Fred often felt guilty for being happy now, like he wasn't supposed to be happy while Cedric was gone. George made him forget those feelings, even if it was temporary.   
They spent the meeting dueling one another, mostly with the spells Harry had been teaching, but they naturally threw in a few of their own additions. It was surprising to Fred that they weren't told off for being a distraction. What he didn't see was Ginny leaning over and whispering to Harry, telling him to let them continue.   
Fred was laughing.  
It was best if it stayed that way. 

Back in the dormitory, all the conversation was focused on the meeting and the plans for holiday. Lee talked about how he was going home to go on a trip with his parents. They would be traveling to Ireland to meet up with his grandparents.   
Fred and George were asked what their plans were, to which there wasn't a clear answer. It was assumed they would be staying at Hogwarts; Mrs. Weasley would have written them with details by now if that wasn't true.   
Fred didn't mind staying at all. He loved his family and loved being at the Burrow for Christmas This year had different circumstances. His bedroom at Grimmauld Place would remind him of summer, and all the pain that came with it. More importantly, Cedric wasn't at home, he was here.   
The boys settled into bed long after they were supposed to be asleep. It didn't take George and Lee long to drift off. Fred did as he always did. He laid down in his bed and stared up at the ceiling, a tiny hint of a smile coming to his face. Recently, he had begun allowing himself a couple of hours of sleep instead of none at all. He trained himself to be able to wake up just before the onslaught of a nightmare started to form. It was an art, and he was adamant about perfecting it.  
A sigh was released slowly. One reach to his side and slender fingers were extending to grab hold of the white box of photos. Fred took a moment to gaze at the one on top, the one he constantly admired, then he flipped forward to others.   
He stopped at one that had been taken shortly after the second task. When the champions were dismissed and Cedric had been awarded first place, Fred forced his love to take a picture with him. The camera was pulled out of a bag that had been safely stowed away, protected from the water. Fred turned it on them and sweetly kissed Cedric's cheek until he was blushing and smiling and that dimple appeared. The moment it showed, his finger clicked the button and he had another photo for his collection.   
With his head deep in his pillow, Fred lifted the photo above his head to study it, clutching the box in his other hand. His eyes shifted between the different elements of the photo, the dimple, the smile, their wet hair from just emerging out of the lake, all of it. As he brought it back down slowly, another deep sigh was let out and his eyelids steadily closed.  
The mental silence he submerged himself in was interrupted when the door flew open and the room became bright again. Caught off guard, the box escaped Fred's hands and fell to the floor, spilling its contents. He sat up instantly and saw Professor McGonagall standing in a nightrobe, pained look spread across her skin. George was awake as well, though Lee had managed to stay still; he'd always been a heavy sleeper.  
"You two, come with me, I'm afraid this is urgent," McGonagall instructed firmly.   
Fred and George both hopped out of bed and made their way towards the exit. Fred hesitated for a moment and looked back at the floor surrounding his bed, at the box without its lid, and the photos all exposed on the floor. He wanted to go back and rearrange them. He wanted to hide them away again. A stern "Hurry!" told him it could wait.   
One more glance to the box and they were gone.

"What do you mean he's been attacked?"   
It was George who had dared to make a demand of Dumbledore.   
"Your father was attacked while completing work for the Order of the Phoenix. He has since been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. All of you will be sent to Grimmauld Place, where you will meet your mother."  
Fred glanced over at the Pensieve. They were leaving. He was leaving. Weeks would go by before another memory would be seen. That was a blow. A sucker punch in addition to the uppercut he and his siblings had just been dealt.  
He wondered if Cedric was here, hiding in the walls, listening to the conversation.   
He had to be...  
"How are we getting there?" It was Ginny that spoke up now. Her voice pulled Fred back to reality.   
"By Portkey, and it is best if you leave now. Gather around." Dumbledore gestured over to a burnt tea kettle sitting on his desk.   
The four siblings and Harry circled the kettle and each took an easy grip. Fred got one last look at the Pensieve. A countdown was initiated, and within moments, they were transported from the office into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.  
The landing was difficult. Fred didn't make the effort to catch him; the harsh contact with the floor caused him to fall forward, sprawled on his back, becoming dizzy. George wasn't knocked over so forcefully. He walked over and held a hand out for Fred to take. Sirius was standing in front of them.  
"Where's Mum?" That was his first question once he was back to standing.   
"Still doesn't know, most likely."   
Fred was still dizzy, overwhelmed by everything that had changed in the past hour. He moved past the others and collapsed into a nearby chair. Fingers were quickly run through his hair. It felt like the night of the first Quidditch practice again. Only things were slightly different this time. That time he had said he couldn't handle everything. Now he just didn't want to.  
The wait for Mrs. Weasley was excruciating, painfully awkward. Harry was distancing himself from the others, not saying a word. Even the siblings remained mostly silent.   
When she walked in, Fred was the first to move.   
He grabbed onto his mother as if he'd never see her again.   
Like he never wanted to let go. 

It was not the Christmas holiday he had expected. But it had its moments.  
St. Mungo's was a dreary place in the best of times, and for the Weasley family, these were not the best of times. New patients filled beds once soon as their previous occupants were discharged. Families shuffled around the halls, some looking exhausted while some looked paralyzed with fear. Fred did his best to avoid them all.   
When he wasn't visiting his father, he liked wandering around all the different floors. Nobody ever came with him. That was what he wanted anyway. The first he veered away from Mr. Weasley's room, George had tried to accompany him. Fred declined that proposal as politely as he could. His twin may have been his comfort at Hogwarts, but something about the hospital just made him yearn for space.   
He tried to go around the same time every day. In addition to that, he followed a routine. He would start on the first floor, where all his family was stationed, and walk through its corridors, politely forcing half a smile to any employees he knew to be working with his father. Once that floor had been explored to its maximum, Fred began his ascent to the top of the building. The second floor housed witches and wizards afflicted with serious illnesses. He was careful on this floor. Next was the third floor, containing different afflictions related to poisoning. The fourth floor provided the highest potential for amusement, even so, Fred would never dare laugh out loud. That floor was where one could find anything to do with spells gone wrong. Each time he ventured to that floor, he spotted a witch with teeth almost down to the floor and a wizard that was often seen breathing small clouds of fire. He walked past them so many times that they eventually introduced themselves to him. Fred found it strange when it had first happened. He thought about it on his way up to the tearoom on the fifth floor. It was on that walk that he realized what had happened; they were so bored and desperate for someone to treat them like normal people, that they treated the first stranger who did as a friend. Fred had never given them weird looks, despite his internal thoughts noting their odd conditions. He forced that same smile he gave to the employees. That was enough to deem him likable.   
It was up in the tearoom that he rested. He had expected it to be busy upon first learning of its existence, yet the opposite was true. At most, there was one other person inside, and they usually left once they saw him enter. People were too preoccupied with their loved ones to feel a need for tea.  
Fred never got tea either. He just liked the quiet.

The second time he followed his routine was the first time he saw the family.   
They were on the second floor. It was a small family, comprised only of a mother, father, and their little girl. She was likely no more than five. The mother had sandy blonde hair and dark, thick glasses that were too large for her face. The father had light brown hair that was just beginning to go grey. He wore a dress shirt that appeared to have gone weeks without ironing and a tie that had been thrown on without any thought as to who would see it. The girl had her father's brown hair and wore a simple dark green dress, likely a Christmas outfit. Both parents had eyes that screamed they were exhausted: never fully open, bags forming underneath, and the unnerving feeling that one wrong word would cause those eyes to tear up. The girl was different. Her eyes were still bright, full of hope.   
The family was always there at the same time Fred was. He passed by them and watched as the three sat outside of the patient's room. It was obvious the room belonged to a relative, and it was only slightly less obvious that they weren't doing well. He couldn't help but wonder what was wrong. It wasn't important enough for him to ask, nor would he have felt it a wise idea.   
It would have bothered him. So he kept on walking. 

Each time he passed them, the mother and father looked more and more exhausted. On the second to last time he walked by, the mother was anxiously tapping her leg and she had her head in her hands. It didn't matter that you couldn't see her eyes; you knew what they would look like if you could.   
It would be the face of someone who was ready to give up.  
Her husband stood next to her with a hand on her shoulder. His eyes were empty. They just stared ahead, looking forward but seeing nothing. He was piercing the wall with his stare but probably couldn't tell you the color it was painted if you asked.   
That was the face of someone who already had.   
And yet through it all, the girl's eyes never changed. She sat in a chair next to her dad, looking up at him with curious eyes, an innocent smile on her face.   
That was the face of someone who didn't know it was possible to give up. 

The last time he saw them was at their absolute worst.  
He walked down the hall as he normally did. This time, though, it felt different. He could hear crying. It sounded like it came from someone young. That assumption was correct.   
The door to the room where they had always congregated outside was now open, but nobody was in the bed. The family sat directly outside, all lined up. The woman had finished crying, though her eyes were so red and bloated that it was clear she had only recently stopped. The man was staring into the floor; his tie had been removed and was now lazily draped around his neck. The girl was the hardest to watch. She was still in the process of crying. Whenever she was allowed a break from her painful sobs, she would glance backward at the room where her loved one had likely wasted away.   
Fred stopped when he wandered into their vicinity. He observed them from a safe distance, watching the girl repeatedly check the room like she was sure that the next time she checked, her loved one would be alive and everything would be alright.   
He knew he didn't have to say anything.  
He still wanted to. 

"Excuse me? Do you mind if I talk to your daughter?" Asking for permission felt so awkward it hurt.   
The mother merely nodded. Fred had a feeling that the only reason she agreed was because she didn't have the energy to question his intentions. That thought was pushed away.  
He knelt in front of the girl.  
"You really loved them, didn't you?"  
She stared at him as if he terrified her. But she still nodded.   
Fred looked to the ground briefly before returning his eyes to her.  
"I lost someone I really loved, too. I think about him a lot. Do you know what makes me feel better?"   
The fear was slipping from her face. She wiped the tears away and leaned forward. He continued.   
"I always have something to remember him by. Something that makes me think of him. I keep a bunch of pictures of him with me all the time. That way I can look at them and remind myself he's always with me. Do you think you think you could find something like that?"  
A miraculous thing happened. She nodded, as she had done before. And this time, she even smiled. It was a small smile, but it mattered to Fred.   
For a brief period in time, the twinkle in her eye returned.

He didn't bother visiting the other floors. He just went straight to the tearoom.  
Luckily, nobody else was there. Fred chose a seat in the back corner. As soon as he was seated, his head was leaned back against the wall. Brown eyes closed almost immediately. He thought about the family. He thought about the girl, hoped that she wouldn't turn out like him. The girl was young; death is such an abstract concept when you're young. All the same, it hurt.  
His eyes opened again. A deep breath was taken in, and on the exhale, soundless tears started running down his cheek.   
Cedric. God, how he missed Cedric.   
His hand reaches for his pockets, thinking the photos will be there.  
Of course they're not, he thinks, they're laying underneath my bed, right where I left them.  
There's a quiet laugh that escapes his lips. He can't even follow his own advice.   
It's the least funny joke he's ever told.


	8. Eight

Uneasy. That's how Fred felt.

But that's not good enough. Anxious? Tense? 

No.

Restless.

For months, he had followed a schedule. Start the week, attend a few days of classes, go to Dumbledore's office, partake in the rest of the classes for the week, and repeat. It had been like that for the entirety of the school year. There was consistency, and he had acquiesced to becoming a thrall to that consistency. So when that fine line between guidance and dependency was disrupted, it meant everything to Fred. 

He felt an overwhelming blend of emotions when the day intended for the viewing of a memory passed. And the majority of these emotions made him feel so incredibly wrong. 

Anger, that one was a given. Fred didn't try very hard to hide that; he was never the best at controlling his temper. Most of the others didn't notice. They were all too busy with their chores around Grimmauld Place, and when they weren't doing chores, they were either eating or had all attention on Mr. Weasley. This was all fine with Fred. He didn't want his family badgering about it anyways. None of them would even understand. They had no idea of his weekly trips to the Pensieve, let alone how important they were to him. 

George noticed. He and Fred were always paired together for chores and always sat with each other during meals. Moreover, he knew what day the memories took place. The little details told him everything he needed. It was in the way he aggressively threw the pillows across the room while he was meant to be cleaning the drawing-room. It was in the way his leg bounced up and down and he bit his nails at dinner, not looking anybody in the eye. It was in the way that he carefully rolled his eyes when Mundungus told a joke, one he normally would have laughed at. It was in the way he was quick to make snarky jokes at Ron's expense, even more than usual.

Of course, there was pain as well. A glance at the clock that would show him he was meant to be in Dumbledore's office half an hour before, that he was late. Another glace once an hour had passed, now causing him to imagine Cedric waiting for him, wondering where he had been and why he hadn't bothered to show up. Fred sat, spaced out on his bed, pondering questions that came to mind. Do ghosts feel things the same way we do? He wondered whether Cedric felt abandonment as strongly as he himself felt remorseful. It was almost humorous. Fred and George had both maintained a strong knack for dramatics throughout all their years at Hogwarts, though the former was acutely self-aware of how grief was elevating that to new heights. 

Back in the days of sitting out on the balcony at the Burrow, he would have just wallowed in that fact. Now, he just wanted to laugh at himself, how miserable he seemed. 

Call it a coping mechanism. 

Yet, above all, it was guilt that was eating at him. Guilt that he was feeling so bitter and upset while he should be grateful that he still had a father. The horrible notion that crept into his mind, telling him that if Arthur Weasley had just been more careful, he could've been sat on the floor beside the Pensieve, talking to Cedric.

Fred hated that feeling. It disgusted him. 

When he said goodnight to his parents that day, he couldn't look his father in the eyes. 

He just wanted to get back to Hogwarts.

Arriving back was a bigger homecoming than he had expected.

Fred felt safer within the high walls of the castle as if they were enveloping him in a seal of protection, welcoming him back. The portraits hung alongside the staircase were a refreshing sight after long days of the portrait of Walburga Black cursing his very existence. 

All the Weasley siblings, along with Harry and Hermione were escorted through the entrance, seeing all the familiar faces that had stayed behind. Lee was there too; he had returned prior from his trip to Ireland. Fred flashed him a smile with partial authenticity. 

He was focused on getting back to his dormitory. To the photos. 

George followed him there, staying right by his side. They moved briskly, determined to get there as fast as they possibly could. Fred broke into a faster pace once they got closer. He strut up to the portrait of the Fat Lady and said the password so confidently that George couldn't help but look over and grin at him, a nearly inaudible laugh escaping his lips. 

Fred moved in front of his twin now, all his attention focused on the staircases in front of him. It was like he was bounding forward, like walking wasn't nearly fast enough for him. He ran up those stairs, his fingers running against the walls as he did. 

He was smiling, and this time it was genuine. 

The door was shoved open. They were still there, in the same jumbled mess they had been left in. 

Rushing forward, his jacket was torn off and tossed lazily onto his bed. He knelt down and starting grabbing at all the pictures. He stacked them up in a pile and started looking through them. George drifted inside shortly after. The knowledge of the photos existence was lost on him, though it was obvious that something was making his brother happy. He moved to his own bed and took a seat. A smirk broke out onto his face.

"What are you doing over there?"

"Cleaning." Not necessarily a lie. George snorts.

"What, didn't get enough of that during the holidays?" 

Fred shakes his head and chuckles.

Fingers flip through to the end of the stack and his breath hitches. There's one missing. It's his favorite one, the one that's always on the top of the pile, the one of Cedric and his smile. 

The white box is quickly pushed aside. Hands beginning to shake, he restarts the pile again, sure to be thorough, convinced he may have missed it, that he must have missed it, because in his mind it simply can't be gone. Each photo is looked over before it's shifted behind the others. He sees the one thing he had been looking at before McGonagall had collected him and George. Everything is accounted for, pardoning the one. He reviews the entire stack again, and then once more. 

It's gone. 

He shoves the pile into the box and gingerly places it on top of his bed. Hands still shaking, he can feel his breathing getting heavier and his heart beating faster. George watches him with an eyebrow raised. He has a tense grip on the mattress underneath as if preparing to push off and come to his brother's aid. As if he knows. 

"Freddie?"

There isn't a response. 

Fred crawls closer to his bed and his trunk, beginning to frantically search. He lays on his stomach, reaching his arms underneath the bedside table, grasping around. Nothing. He pushes on his trunk and lifts it just enough to check the floor beneath it. Still nothing. Brown eyes are darting around, hunting for any tiny sign that the photo still exists. 

In a last, desperate effort, he squeezes his hand into the space between the table and trunk. A deep sigh is let out. It's a miracle; the photo is there.

Cedric is looking at him, stationary. The beautiful smile is soothing him, the pale grey eyes piercing into him, lovingly. A few more seconds are spent gazing before the picture is placed in its rightful place on top of the others. The box is sealed and tucked away amongst the other belongings. 

Fred shifts himself over to lean against his bed. Long, slender digits run through his hair. His breathing steadily begins to return to normal. The palm of his right hand is delicately placed over his chest, feeling his heartbeat. The shaking in his hands still hasn't stopped, but it becomes manageable. He feels his eyes begin to water and responds by biting his lip.

"Damnit." The tone is hushed. He doesn't want to be heard.

It doesn't matter to George. 

He walks over and stands in front of Fred, looking at him with an expression of trepidation. 

"Freddie, are you okay? Because it really seems like you're not."

Eyes widening, lurching forward to get closer to his brother, Fred snaps.

"Of course I'm not okay, how could I be?"

Another slow breath is released, this one more shallow. The look on George's face breaks him. And what hurts even more is that the look is completely justified. Up until this point, George had been under the impression that things were getting better. They were, they genuinely were. George saw it clearer than even Fred did. He saw the change in his humor, the change in his face, the change in his mannerisms. He saw his brother becoming happier again. 

The obstruction of consistency was threatening that progress. 

"I'm sorry." That's all Fred can manage. 

George stares at him and his face softens. The corner of his mouth curves up slightly into a comforting smile. He shakes his head.

Getting onto the ground and leaning against the bed, he lays his head onto Fred's shoulder. Both arms wrap around him. His hands rest on the shoulders of his twin, holding onto him gently.

"You don't have to apologize."

Drudging through the first few days of classes was no easy task for Fred. Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days. He knew some teachers wouldn't be forgiving in regards to a lack of attention, namely Snape and McGonagall. There were others where spacing out was an option. 

History of Magic was so dull that Fred even allowed himself to drift off into a nap. The only reason he let it happen was that he knew he would never reach the prospect of a nightmare before class ended. 

George watched with a blank expression as Fred crossed his arms and cautiously rested his head down onto them, eyes closing slowly. 

He would be nudged awake as Binns called lecture to a close. Waking up was difficult. For one, it meant that he would have to transition to another class, one that he likely couldn't sleep through. Besides that, however, a part of him admitted to enjoying sleep. His body craved rest, rest that he refused to provide. Convincing himself that staying awake was the best option was challenging; enduring the nightmares that sleep brought would be harder. 

It didn't feel quite real, standing in Dumbledore's office again.

And yet it felt so very right. 

He had raced there as soon as it was time. It had been what could likely be considered the most emotionally tumultuous week of Fred's life. Seeing the memories brought stability and comfort. No matter what. 

He needed this. 

A deep breath and he immerses himself with the depths of the Pensieve, watching the scenery swirl around until it lands on a dark environment. 

Dozens of bookcases are in front of him, tall enough to reach the ceiling. The only lighting provided is from a chandelier hanging above, glass twinkling against its own reflection. Groups of students wandered between the rows of books, occasionally reaching up on their toes to snatch one that was higher up. A girl standing furthest back pulled out her wand and pointed it upward, giving it a flick. A book that was in the highest shelf popped out and floated down into her arms. She added it to the growing pile in her arms before starting a brisk walk towards the exit. Elsewhere, there's a boy nearly in tears while he pours over a heavy volume, obviously having enough of whatever material he was studying. Everyone else gets sits there, quiet, as if they're afraid of being told off for breathing too loud. 

Because they are, Fred softly chuckles, thinking. Pince would tear them to pieces.

It's the Hogwarts library. Not a place he visited often. Not unless convinced by-

"Ced, I don't know how, but you've managed it again. You are the only person in this entire school who can drag me to this horrible place."

It's himself, striding in with an arm snugly wrapped around Cedric's waist. 

"I'm just as impressed as you are. I said it mostly as a joke, didn't think you'd actually agree to anything. And for the record, the library can be a wonderful place. Give it a chance." Cedric leans down to place a quick kiss onto Fred's cheek. The redhead grins.

"Here's your chance. Don't mess it up."

Fred watches as his past self and Cedric make their way to the back of the library, far away from everyone else present. Walking down into the last aisle, they seat themselves at a table and start to unpack their bags. Parchment is laid out, kept steady by itself placement underneath some ink bottle. Fred tosses his bag down onto the ground beside him while Cedric opts to place his into the chair beside him. 

Cedric reaches his arms across the table to grab onto both of Fred's hands. His fingertips gently brush over the palms of the other, a gentle touch, one of the utmost sincerity. Fred squeezes back and shoots one of his signature playful smirks his way.

"What will you be putting me through today?" His voice is dramatic, as it had the habit of being in these scenarios.

"Charms. Simple enough, right?"

"I can handle that."

Cedric takes out a textbook from his bag, one labeled The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6. Alternate him, Fred pulls out a fresh quill and unstoppered the inkle bottle. The tip of the quill is dipped inside, and his hand holds it over, patiently.

"Tell me the assignment again."

"Describe how to produce a Bubble-Head Charm and come up with five creative ways it could be used outside the classroom."

"Oh, brilliant. You know all about that." Fred beams over at him.

"Very funny. But you're still doing this on your own. I'm here to help when it's needed."

That response gets a groan out of Fred, but he sets to work anyway. Cedric sits watching him, book flipped open to the pages detailing the charm. He'd already completed this assignment before he came. Fred was very aware of this, but he knew better than to try and wrangle the answers out of his boyfriend. 

He writes out the procedure and gets three of the uses copied down before abruptly setting the quill aside and standing up. Moving to the bookshelves behind him, his eyes dart around, scanning the titles, looking for anything remotely interesting to him.

He finds one and tugs it out, skimming through and pretending to read its words.

"Hey. Come check this out." 

The real Fred smiles; he knows what's about to happen.

Cedric looks at him for a moment, an eyebrow raised, before standing to join him. He steps closer, pushing in his chair, hand lingering over the table. Fred bites his lip to suppress a laugh and slams the book shut once Cedric is close. It's set aside and forgotten about.

Hands slide up to cup the Hufflepuff's face, thumbs running over his cheekbones, elbows rested onto his collarbone. He's gently pushed backward, stopping only when his back meets the edge of the bookcases. Fred moves his face closer and suspends it just in front of Cedric's, their eyes meeting, swimming in one another. He lets out one more breath before closing those eyes and sealing the gap between their lips. The kiss is soft, sweet, romantic. It's elegant, treated as if any more pressure between them will cause their lungs and hearts to give out. Cedric moves his arm to weave around his torso. He draws Fred in, eliminating any space keeping them apart.

Fred can't help but smile against Cedric's lips. He's happy.

"What do you think you're doing? Get out!"

Cedric retracts to see the commotion. It's Madam Pince raging towards them, book in hand as if she intends to beat them with it. 

"I said get out!" She repeats. Her face tells them they ought not to wait to hear it a third time. 

Fred launches back to allow Cedric the opportunity to start his escape. Together, they quickly pack up their school things, hastily tightening the lid back onto the ink bottle, and tossing it in the bag. The unfinished assignment is rolled up and grabbed by Cedric. He doesn't waste any time in stowing it away.

They're chased out as the other students look on, roaring with laughter. 

Fred looks back at Cedric. He grabs his hand.

He was always wanting to protect him. 

"Damn her."

There's a shared amusement between himself and Cedric. Fred shakes his head, the same smirk from the memory etched onto his face. 

"She always knows how to ruin the mood, doesn't she?" He chuckles. A glance is thrown over at the ghost, who's hovering next to the Headmaster's collection of books. 

"She does. Though I suppose that's her job."

Fred sarcastically crosses his arm.

"I'll off myself before I work a job as boring as that." He starts to laugh at his joke but stops shortly after. It may be rude to talk about future careers when the boy in front of you will never hold a job anywhere. 

Cedric moves away from the books and floats towards the Pensieve. He stops just in front of the wall, the wall that Fred normally leaned upon. 

"Do you mind taking a seat? I want to talk about something." The inflection in his voice isn't necessarily foreboding, even still, it's unnerving. 

Fred finds a spot on the floor and rests up against the hard stone. All focus is gifted to the ghost.

"I've been thinking a lot here. About you. And I just... I'm worried. I'm worried that I'm taking up so much of your time, your energy. It can't be healthy."

"Isn't that the way it should be? I mean, I loved you, of course I'm going to think about you a lot."

He's so intent on the conversation that he fails to notice the use of loved rather than love.

"Well, yeah. But what I'm getting at is something different. Have you considered moving on? To other people, I mean."

Fred's eyes widen. His mouth opens just a little, caught off guard.

"What, like dating? No. I haven't. Not yet at least." 

Cedric drifts closer. His face is warm but determined. 

"I think it could be good for you. You deserve to feel love again, Freddie."

Nothing is said back. He's still in shock. The ghost continues.

"There has to be someone who can show that to you again."

A name crosses Fred's mind, just for a brief second. He shakes it away instantly. It simply won't work, for many reasons. His instincts pushed it forward regardless. 

"Maybe."


	9. Nine.

What Cedric had said refused to leave his mind.

Fred had spent the first couple days following the conversation just trying to forget about it. He wanted to ignore it, pretend it had never happened, maybe even convince himself Cedric was joking. But Cedric wouldn't joke about something so important, so meaningful. He made jokes to impress Fred sometimes. They weren't always very good, but Fred always laughed anyway. Naturally, that laugh was usually followed by some playful advice on how to improve his wit. This time wasn't like that. It was genuine. Cedric wanted nothing more than to see Fred happy. That had been true in his lifetime and was still true now.

When forgetting was no longer an option, he tried to use his imagination.

He tried to picture someone else living through all those memories with him.

Asking someone else to the yule ball, a bouquet of flowers in his hands, big smile on his face. The mystery person is shocked and starts grinning with him. They pull him into an embrace, but when they release him and take a step backward, their face is replaced by Cedric's.

Going to the dance with a different date, waiting for them by the stairs. He's standing there in his plain robes. That's when they show up, looking exceptionally handsome in their specially tailored suit. Arms are linked. Fred looks over at another couple for only a moment. His attention is called back. It's Cedric, gazing at him, telling him it's time for the champions to line up together.

Sitting together in the Three Broomsticks, two glasses of Butterbeer placed next to one another on the table. He's laughing and reaching for his drink. Once he's got it, he holds it out to clink, shooting a playful grin over at the boy across from him. They knock glasses and lift them to their lips. Fred's vision is obscured; when the butterbeer is set back down, Cedric is seated across from him, blushing.

Standing in the spot by the lake, hands holding the others face. This time it's not a different boy. Fred can't imagine standing in this spot with anyone else. Cedric is looking back at him, grey eyes wide and curious. Fred grabs hold of his arms and tells him he loves him. They kiss, melting into each other. Fred holds onto Cedric as if he's afraid he'll never hold him again.

Imagining someone else was impossible.

No one else had that smile. Those eyes. That dimple.

Except that last part wasn't entirely accurate.

Fred's memory was just failing him.

It became his obsession. He couldn't focus on anything else. A second spent trying to pay attention to McGonagall was intruded on by the thought of moving on. He sat there, aggressively tapping his foot on the floor, watching countless faces morph into Cedric's.

It felt hopeless, pathetic. And it got to him.

The moment class ended, Fred rushed out, telling George that he would meet up again with him later.

He pushed past the masses of students, squeezing past the groups of girls clumped together in conversation. He moved fast and got some people to stare after him long after he was away from them. But he didn't care about any of them. Not at all.

The nearest escape was a bathroom. Shoving the door open, he moved briskly to the sinks and dropped his bags, running his fingers through his hair in quick, erratic motions. A hand shifts to turn on the faucet. Water comes cascading down. He feels his breathing getting heavy again, just as it had in the dormitory on the first night back. Water is tossed onto his face, repeatedly.

His eyes are drawn upward to the mirror. Staring into it, he hardly recognizes himself. Being pale had always been one of his characteristics, but now it seemed heightened. The freckles on his face were now more obvious, so much more clear. There had been bags under his eyes for months but they were getting worse. It seemed to be moving past sleep exhaustion and into pure lunacy. Fred Weasley felt as though he was being consumed from within himself.

He had to go somewhere. Somewhere away from others.

The common room was the first place he thought of.

Luckily, nobody else is in there. Most of the others are in class. George was one of them. He would be spending Care of Magical Creatures without his brother. Fred was alright with that; Lee was there to keep him company.

And besides, George had already seen enough of him being upset. He deserved a break.

The couch nearest the fire was the spot he chose. He was tall enough to take up its entire length laying down, and that's exactly what he did. Legs were rested up on the sides, eyes were glued to the ceiling, slowly drifting around to try and find somewhere to land. One hand traced circles onto the other. He couldn't stay still, couldn't properly focus. The expression on his face is mostly blank; there's no obvious signs of anger, sadness, and least of all happiness.

A deep sigh is let out. His eyes land on one spot. It's insignificant, but he's too tired to keep moving.

The portrait swings open, and someone else walks in. Fred gives a sideways glance in their general direction. He can't see who they are, and he doesn't much care. Being left alone is all he wants.

"Fred! Aren't you supposed to be in class right now?"

It's Katie.

He lifts his head just enough to see her. She's walking over towards him. Her bag is placed next to a nearby chair, and she takes a seat in a neighboring sofa.

"I am. Just decided not to go."

She nods and waits a few seconds before initiating conversation like she's afraid that he'll yell at her to go away.

"I have a free period right now, and I didn't know where else to go. Hopefully, I'm not bothering you being here."

Fred doesn't say anything, just gives a quick head shake. Katie shifts uncomfortably on the sofa.

"Do you mind if I sit next to you?"

Forcing himself to be propped up by the elbows, he responds softly, "Go for it."

A smile comes to her face. She moves into the small space that was created. Fred sighs again, beginning to push himself up to provide her more room. A hand is moved onto his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You don't have to move. It's ok."

Making brief eye contact, he shows her a closed mouth smile, apprehensively relaxing down into her lap. It gives him the opportunity to continue staring up into the ceiling. Katie's fingers migrate into his hair, running through it slowly. They sit like this for a minute. It's quiet.

"How are you feeling?" She finally asks, breaking the silence. Fred adjusts his eyes to meet her face.

"Fine."

"Ok. But how are you really feeling?"

That forces a laugh from him.

"Completely horrible, to be honest."

She shares the laughter with him, though hers is much more delicate. The smile she's revealing isn't patronizing at all. It's full of kindness, so warm and gentle. The brushes through his ginger locks are even more cautious. It's obvious she's trying her best not to hurt him, only wanting him to feel comfortable. And that works.

"I wish it wasn't like this. That you didn't have to be sad all the time. I miss your stupid jokes."

"Do you? I don't recall any stupid jokes. They were all hilarious."

"Just because they're hilarious doesn't mean they aren't stupid.

He admits defeat by remaining silent, a tiny grin mostly hidden. Katie runs through one last time before moving her hands to rest just below his collarbone.

"We missed you on the team, you know. Even before George and Harry got kicked off, it was so different. Now it's just miserable."

Fred knows she doesn't mean to make him feel guilty. It does regardless.

"I'm sorry. I want to come back." A lie. She knows it.

"No, you don't. But that's not a bad thing. I know how much it probably reminds you of him. You shouldn't have to go through that. You deserve to be happy."

His eyes drift away from her. That last sentence reminded him of something Cedric had said.

You deserve to feel love again, Freddie.

That prompts him to sit up, to face her instead. He alters his position and flips around, pulling his legs up to his chest. Head resting on his knees, eyes looking over to Katie.

A distraction is in order. Humor always works. Hopefully.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm perfectly happy right now. I've just been pretending all this time. You got me." His neck twitches. It hurts to joke like that, even by his standards.

She tilts her head and gives him a look of disappointment he's seen a million times before. One just like the looks Mrs. Weasley would give him and George whenever they got into trouble. Which just happened to be quite often.

"Fred. I'm being serious."

"So am I!" Both his eyebrows are raised at her, the corner of his mouth bending up into a mischievous smirk, "This is my serious face, can't you tell?"

That gets her to smile again. Wider than before.

He notices something. Something he'd seen a long time ago.

Her lone dimple. It's in full view.

The sight of it is overwhelming. His breath hitches. A shudder runs through his body, coursing through his veins. All the attention he can muster is focused directly onto that part of her face. Controlling the emotions that flood over him is difficult. Cedric invades every crevice of his mind, his thoughts circulating between moving images of his smile, replaying the sound of his laugh. Breathing gets heavier. The tempo of his heart is crescendoing like its playing in a symphony, climbing towards the peak of the performance. He lifts his head off his knees. Hands are lifted up to his face, massaging in circles to calm himself down.

"Fred?"

What had Cedric said?

There has to be someone who can show that to you again.

Maybe, just maybe, he could learn to adapt.

Defy the odds. Force the impossible to happen.

His eyes move back to hers. One more deep, yet shallow breath. There's a desperate look in his eyes, pleading, begging for a reason to stop him. This isn't what he wants. It's the only option he thinks he has left. It's what Cedric wants.

Slowly, he brings his face close to hers. Entire body shivering. Nervous. Terrified.

And he kisses her.

It's a brief kiss, maybe only a few seconds. Fred retracts his lips. He's instantly full of regret, disappointed with himself. Katie is staring right back at him. Her face is frozen, a hint of horror creeping over. She swallows hard. Speechless.

Fred has no clue what to say either. He feels petrified, doomed to be stuck in this place forever, forced to live with the consequences of his rash decision.

Both of them have an indescribable pain in their eyes. It's a different kind of pain.

She's confused. Nothing less would be expected of her. Someone just kissed her. Someone she feels only platonic love for, not realizing that's what he feels too. She wants so desperately to help him. That would make her happy. But that kiss is asking far too much of her. It begs her to lie, not only to herself but to her best friend. She can't do that.

He's ashamed. Embarrassed doesn't describe the feeling well enough. And he knows the source of the problem. So consumed is he by the image of Cedric that he would allow himself to become powerless to its charm. A mere similarity to that face Fred so adored caused him to act recklessly. Of course, he had been reckless his entire life, but there was still something strategic about it before. A calculated risk. This wasn't like that. It's mortifying. The thought that he was willing to jeopardize one of his closest friendships for such a doomed endeavor disgusted him.

"I'm sorry, I- I have to go."

His voice is trembling. Stumbling, he gets to his feet and rushes away, heading for the stairs leading to the dormitories. All his things are left behind. Katie remains fixed in her spot, staring at the place in the air where he had been.

The stairs nearly trip him on his way up. A thousand and more times he had used them before, through sleep exhaustion and playful chases, and this is the first time he staggers. He's at a level of physical and mental disorientation that he didn't think possible. Of all the things that have happened this year, it's this kiss that makes him lose his balance.

Too overwhelmed to stay upright, he collapses onto his bed. He doesn't even reach over for the pictures. His arms are shaking and he's too weak to make the effort. Normally, those pictures mean everything to him, normally they would be able to comfort him without question.

In this moment, however, he felt inconsolable.

Fred had no idea how he had convinced himself it was a good idea. It was a spontaneous decision with no logical backings. So many reasons were right there, denying its validity.

He'd never fancied a single girl in his life, never once. They were among his best friends, but never could he see himself falling in love with a girl. His friends had known for years, George even longer. Cedric was the first boy he developed feelings for. Thankfully, he was confident enough to pursue him, to befriend him, to get to know him. That alone made him happy. Finding out the adoration was mutual made him ecstatic.

So he fell hopelessly in love with that boy. He couldn't have fought that even if he wanted to.

Katie knew all this. She knew it wasn't real. He knew.

And he'd let it happen anyways.

There was nothing romantic about that kiss. Absolutely no feelings, no grand confession, none of that. Fred had just been so painfully desperate to feel something again, to truly feel something, that he kissed the first person to show him that they genuinely cared.

And besides, there was a common theme that ran through his present life. He only ever really needed one good reason to do something.

Because it was what Cedric wanted.

This time they were outside. They're walking alongside the Black Lake, headed in the direction of their spot. Cedric has his right arms slung around Fred's shoulder. His fingers are reaching down to grab for Fred, who reaches his own upward, intertwining their digits. Fred has his free arm wrapped around the waist of the other. There's a secure grip on his side, holding him protectively.

Cedric leans down to press a kiss to his temple. Grey eyes are closed, and he smiles against his skin. Fred is smiling with him. He looks up at him, a grin coming to his lips. Head leaning into the chest of the taller boy.

"Are you ready?"

"For what?"

"The third task, obviously. That's the only exciting thing left in the year."

Cedric chuckles. He looks right into Fred's eyes, raising an eyebrow.

"Not at all. Maybe it's exciting for you, but I am terrified."

The arm around his waist is tightened, squeezing onto him.

"You shouldn't be. There's nothing to worry about, Ced. You're loads better than all the others. Don't tell Harry I said that, though."

Fred burrows his face into the crook of Cedric's neck. Tiny kisses are placed there, his lips just barely grazing his skin. He just can't stop smiling. Fingers run up and down along the side of his shirt, feeling the soft fabric. A hint of a blush comes to Cedric's cheeks; he bites his lip to hold back an even bigger grin.

They walk quietly the rest of the way to the spot. Once they make it, Fred reluctantly loosens his grip on Cedric, allowing him to lower down to the floor. He joins shortly after, sitting next to him, leaving minimal space between. Their hands return to each other almost immediately. Eyes drift back together again, softening as soon as they do. For a short instant, Fred glances at Cedric's lips.

Kiss him, the real Fred begs. Show me what it's supposed to feel like. To look like.

He doesn't. Instead, the pair leans back into the grass. The only thing keeping their bodies apart is their interwoven hands resting beside them. Cheeks are pressed to the ground, heads turned to keep looking at one another. Cedric reaches over to brush a piece of hair away from Fred's face and keeps his hand there to delicately stroke at his cheek.

"Hey," Fred starts, "You should come over this summer. You can stay with me and my family."

Cedric smiles at that idea. His index finger moves to trace alongside his jaw.

"That sounds great. I can't wait to meet everyone. All of them I haven't met already, that is."

All the Weasleys, pardoning Mrs. Weasley, had been introduced to Cedric during the Quidditch World Cup. Fred wanted more than that. He wanted them to truly know him.

"Mum will love you. She'll think you're a good influence on me."

That amuses Cedric so much it causes his dimple to show again.

"And? Do you think I am?"

A sheepish look is directed his way.

"No. I think I'm a horrible influence on you." The real Fred can't help but agree with him.

"What about your siblings?"

"Bill can be a little intimidating at first, but he gets along with everyone. You probably won't see Charlie often, but he'll bother you about Quidditch. Two star Seekers in one room is his dream, and if Harry is there then it's even better. Percy is about as stiff as that tree over there, but he'll like you, you're smart. You know all the others already. If they didn't like you, I'd curse them."

Cedric listens intently, wandering hand settling in the other's hair.

"I don't live too far from you. You come over to my house, too. There's this small lake just a ways away. I go out there to read or just relax. That can be our spot for the summer. Our thing."

In a burst of happiness, Fred rolls over right on top of Cedric. He grabs his face and kisses him.

"I can't wait."

In the office, Fred is distracted.

The memory provided him with support. It even made him temporarily forget about the situation in his actual world.

Once he returned, he thought about Katie. He imagined her sitting in class, looking over at him uncomfortably. He wanted to talk to her. To make things better.

Right now, it was Cedric who would hold his conversation.

"I'm sorry you never got to see the lake. It's really beautiful."

Fred doesn't respond. He just stands there watching Cedric drift around.

"And I'm also sorry I never got to meet your family. I really-"

"Do you remember what you asked me to do last time?"

Cedric nods. He comes closer to Fred and waits for more details. There's a curious look in his eyes. He's eager to learn the details.

"Well, I did it, and you'll think I'm lying. I kissed Katie Bell in the common room. We were just talking and she smiled and I saw something that reminded me of you, and I swear I went completely mad. Couldn't even stay there after I did it, I had to get away." His voice is full of frustration, still so disappointed by what had happened.

With a tilt of the head, Cedric shows his skepticism.

"I thought you didn't, you know .."

"I don't. It just .. happened."

An awkward silence falls amongst them.

"So, what happens now?"

Fred shakes his head rapidly, feelings his eyes starting to water. Teeth sink hard into his lip. Crying in front of Cedric is the last thing he needs right now. It doesn't work. The first few tears come rolling down, and they're joined by others.

"I don't know, Ced. I really don't know what to do anymore. Everything I do seems to either do nothing or make me feel worse. I just wish I could go back to before Dad was attacked. That's when it felt like things were finally getting better."

There's so much stress in his voice.

"I can't lose anyone else in my life. I just can't." His eyes close. More tears are forced out.

The ghost just looks at him, miserable.

No doubt he blames himself.

Cedric gets right beside him. A translucent arm reaches around Fred's neck, trying to hug him. All Fred experiences is a cold feeling as the limbs pass right through him. Cedric refused to show defeat and reached for him again.

No matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to hold Fred again.

That broke both of them.


	10. Ten.

Katie spends the next week distancing herself from Fred.

She doesn't completely ignore him and act like he no longer exists. That would somehow manage to create a more awkward situation than the one they were already enduring. Nobody else was yet aware of what had happened, and not many were bound to find out. It was best it stayed that way. As a result, the interactions they shared were only in the company of mutual friends at their usual table in the Great Hall. The space created between them was just enough to make them feel close to comfortable but not so far that others took notice. Occasional eye contact was made if only to appease their friends. Fred was aware of how stiff and uneasy he felt on the inside; that did not need to translate into his body language. Minimal conversation is made. It's mostly just responses to questions, demanding a light-hearted answer.

They do what they have to do to feel normal.

The worst part is that Fred doesn't want to leave her alone. He wants so desperately to check in on her and see how she feels, if there's anything he can do to help. This was someone who had been with him since the beginning of their first year. They had watched each other grow up. All the late-night 'study' sessions with their group in the common room, all the exhausting Quidditch practices, everything. That was something Fred refused to let go of.

If things were simple, he would waltz up to her and tell a ridiculous, potentially self-deprecating joke and force her into a tight hug. He was proud of his hugs. But things were far from simple. He hated making people sad. Upsetting George had already been more than he had wished for. Making people laugh was his thing. Making people smile was his thing. Nothing made him happier than turning a 'This homework is driving me mental face' into a look of 'You're so stupid yet I can't help but laugh'. It made him popular, but his love for goofing around went far beyond that. The sound of laughter, real genuine laughter, was his comfort.

One morning, when he wakes up, he decides to write her a note. Nothing too detailed, he has never been an amazing writer. But it's a brief apology, an explanation even. And an offer to be there whenever it's needed most. He gives it to Alicia to pass along before they all leave for practice.

It's the least he can do.

George catches on quickly. Not that it was particularly difficult for him; two best friends keeping their distance is a rather obvious beacon signaling that a problem exists.

Fred is confronted about it up in the dormitory. They manage to get a short time just by themselves - something that was desperately needed.

He's organizing his things again, rearranging them to be as compact as possible. The incident with the photo had not been forgotten. Since then, he had taken to making attempts to perfect his living arrangement, ensuring as little space between belongings as possible. Some days he would even test it out, carelessly tossing little objects at the space between his trunks, seeing if anything would be lodged between. Nothing ever got stuck. Nevertheless, he continued searching for the most ideal way. Fred liked being right, and he was a perfectionist. Everyone seemed to think neither he nor George cared about much, but that simply wasn't true. They just cared very deeply about so few things, and when they cared, they dedicated all their energy to refining the details.

At this point, even things with the most minimal attachment to Cedric now fell into that category.

George comes in intending to pick up a few things before class. They have plenty of time, but he has an ulterior motive. It was expected for Fred to occasionally act distant. Katie was a different story. She was one of the happiest people he had ever met. Always the first one to offer help, there was something almost infectious about her smile. It wasn't an obnoxious smile like the one the twins were known to have. It was gentle, welcoming, the most friendly one a person could have. And it came so easily to her. Except, in the mornings at breakfast following the incident with Fred, there was tension in the skin surrounding her lips when she pulled it back into a smile. It wouldn't have been obvious to most; in fact, it was likely that nobody else had even paid close enough attention. Naturally, Fred noticed, but that was only due to his heightened paranoia, manifesting from his guilt. But so did George. He had become rather gifted at detecting things like that, little shifts in emotion. All because of Fred. It was because of the dinners at Grimmauld Place, the ones where Fred's jaw would clench up at the mention of certain topics and his leg would start tapping. He saw it when his twin would just slightly avert his eyes from his own during a conversation, just enough for him to notice, something only a brother of a close bond would notice. And early in the summer, when their mother tried to make Fred feel happy again, his smile matched that of the Katie bore now. That's how George noticed. He had seen it all before.

The tension being causational became obvious to him shortly after. The source was clear. George is confident he's right but he still needs to test his theory. Both Fred and Katie had been mostly excluded from interpersonal conversations at the table, no doubt by their own choice. The easiest way to discover if there was conflict was to force them together. George didn't enjoy the thought of pushing his brother into an uncomfortable situation, and yet the situation seemed to call for it. It would be impossible to help Fred if he couldn't pinpoint the problem. Discovery of the details of the problem would have to come straight from the source, and George was smart enough to know that Fred would surely deny any problems unless enough evidence was provided to make deniability rendered obsolete.

No time is wasted. He arrives at the point, calmly.

"Hey, Fred? Can I ask you something?"

Fred turns around and enters a standing position immediately, a little rushed. He's caught off guard, though it's hard to ignore the slight aura of worry surrounding him. And who could blame him? Whenever someone makes that request, rarely is it ever a fantastic thing. His thoughts are fixated on the situation with Katie. Connections are made instantly.

He knows.

"Go for it." A casual reply, trying to ease the pressure.

George takes a few easy steps closer to his brother.

"What's going on with Katie?" He sees Fred about to protest and politely cuts him off, imploring, "And don't tell me nothing is wrong. I see you two at breakfast, you can't even look at each other."

He gets silence in response. More steps are taken.

"Damnit, Freddie, I can't help you if I don't know what you're dealing with." His tone isn't angry at all. Instead, there pain within it, pleading for answers.

"Alright! I'll tell you. As long as you promise to be honest with me. If you think I'm an idiot, tell me. I'm serious."

George nods his head twice.

"Promise."

Nothing is said for a short duration. One patiently waits on the other, nothing to rush the accurate story. He waits as long as needed.

"Do you remember that day I left you behind after class? Well, I went back to the common room after that, just to get away from everyone. And Katie showed up. We talked for a little while, she just wanted to see how I was doing. And then ..."

No interruption is made; the only movement made is a hilt of the head, listening carefully.

"And then she smiled. And it looked .. just like him. Almost exactly the same. It got to me."

Fred is cautious in just how much information he's providing. The motive will be missing. That would require revealing the existence of the ghost, something he wasn't yet willing to do, even to his most trustest ally.

"I kissed her. It was stupid, I knew it was stupid, and I did it anyway. Then, to make that wonderful story even better, I just ran away, barely said a word."

George just stares, remaining quiet. Of all the potential answers, that one certainly had failed to cross his mind. He thinks of something that feels stupid to ask.

"I thought you were-"

"I am," Fred cuts him offs, having anticipated that question, "What happened has nothing to do with that, it just .. happened."

There's tension between them, though it isn't antagonistic. Neither can find the words to make this easier. George is silent, not knowing how to process everything he just heard. Fred is lost without a clue of how to make the situation simpler to understand. This was not the first time this had happened, but that didn't alleviate the strain associated with it. All the years before had brought conversation without complication. Even if they had childish arguments, there was seldom silence. It was resolved with some harsh words that were eventually forgiven. This was different.

A part of Fred almost wants George to lash out, to loudly demand more answers. A raised voice, visible anger, and the promise that he won't leave until he gets answers. The complete truth would be forced out and then it would just become a known fact between the two brothers. Fred wouldn't have to lie to his best friend anymore. George wouldn't have to continue playing guessing games and grasping at straws.

It doesn't happen. More questions are asked.

"Have you apologized?"

Fred stiffens up. It wasn't a lie to say yes, but it also wasn't completely true.

"I wrote her a note and asked Alicia to give it to her."

A sigh comes from George and he bites at his lip. When he speaks, it's clear that his voice is decorated with disappointment.

"I don't think that's good enough, Freddie."

"What?"

"You told me to tell you if I thought you were being stupid. I just think you could be handling this a bit better, that's all." He's trying to remain calm, but the frustration is pushing through.

"Do you think this is easy for me? It's not. One of my best friends can't even look at me right now. The others are bound to find out soon enough. You're mad at me."

It takes a moment for George to respond.

"She's my friend, too. Katie deserves better than a note. And I'm not mad at you. I just want things to get better. For everyone."

More arguments that can be made, but the energy to do so just doesn't exist.

"Me too."

Satisfied enough of what he heard, George walks around the room, over to his bed. Something catches his eye. It's a stack of papers, colors alternating between pale orange and a delicate purple. He leans down to grab the one on top and looks it over.

There's hesitation before he speaks like he's afraid that what he wants to say will offend his brother.

"We haven't worked on this stuff in a while."

Fred joins him and takes the sheet, reading over every word on the page. It's one of their owl order forms for the shop. Guilt starts to invade his thoughts. He had been obnoxiously absent from the planning process. George was stuck with everything. He promised it was alright, that he didn't mind taking care of the tedious bits, that he would be patiently waiting to get his business partner back. Regardless of all that, Fred felt awful about it.

"I know. And that's my fault."

George forces a smile to his twin, trying his best to provide comfort.

"Don't say that. It's not like you're intentionally trying to undermine my efforts. Take your time. We shouldn't rush something like this anyway."

And with one more supportive pat on the shoulder, George departs, leaving an almost uncomfortable silence.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when they first started getting serious about the shop. He hadn't even properly spoken to Cedric yet. Back then, he was just Pretty Boy Diggory, and while he certainly found him pretty, his attention was elsewhere. The prospect of owning their shop made them so happy. It still did, deep down.

Fred could still remember the day that Harry forced his winnings into George's hands, demanding that they take it, that they do what they have always wanted to do. The boy had insisted that the money should've belonged to Cedric and that he was sure that Cedric would want to see Fred live his dream. They could find no way to argue with that logic.

That was still his dream. Nothing could diminish that completely. Yet, it felt so irrelevant now. The priority was on himself and his recovery, as selfish as it felt.

Maybe that was wrong. It surely felt that way when he thought of George. The thought circulated through him often, how George deserved better than this.

But he was trying.

That had to mean something.

"C'mon, Fred. Just try this for me."

They're in the gorgeous atmosphere of the Hufflepuff Common Room. Sunshine is pouring in, causing the leaves of all the blossoming plants to almost dance in its warmth. The pair are seated nearest a window, catching the heat exuding from the ever crackling fireplace.

"You can keep doing your extremely boring homework. I'm having fun over here."

Cedric didn't bother coming up with a clever response. He merely rolled his eyes playfully and kept at his writing. Fred, on the other hand, insisted on partaking in any activity that had even the slightest possibility of prolonging his own assignment. He had tried finding the weirdest possible sitting arrangement, testing to see how far his chair could tip bend backward before tipping. Each attempt briefly got Cedric's attention, if only out of fear for the other's injury. The brunette tried to hide his amusement but every time, the corner of his mouth twitched up before resuming his Transfiguration homework.

When Fred grew tired of that, he transitioned to creating little objects out of his wand. It began with small flowers, all of which were placed around the table, close enough to become a distraction for Cedric. They were organized in different shapes, the occasional word. He didn't stop until over half of the table was covered, converted into a miniature garden.

Cedric said nothing, but it was clear that he was becoming increasingly frustrated at Fred's reluctance to do anything productive. Amusement was appreciated, naturally, but this had been a common thread throughout every single one of their study sessions. It was always him researching while attempting to provide copious encouragement.

The annoyance had absolutely no malicious intent. It wasn't necessarily found in disappointment, but more exasperation. He felt like he wasn't doing enough to influence Fred. Like it would be his fault if he ended up failing out of Hogwarts.

It was a combination of these internal dilemmas with an overwhelming sense of trust and openness that caused the ensuing incident.

Fred is leaned back into his chair, legs rested upon the table, just out of the way of Cedric and his cluster of parchment, ink, and textbooks. Holding his wand up lazily, as if it were a simple stick, flicks of the wrist send small birds flying from its tip, out to fly around the open space of the common room. The creatures travel around together, bumping into one another, and chirping loudly.

One last bird is released with a flourish and a bright smile.

Cedric can't stay quiet any longer.

"Freddie, can you please focus?" It's obvious he's still trying to be friendly. There's just an additional push in his tone, trying to incentivize his love to listen.

"Just give me a few more minutes."

The frustration is slowly festering like a horrible disease, something you want to stop but just can't seem to. His eyes close and he exhales, trying to calm himself.

"Ced, you never let yourself have fun. Just relax."

That's the thing that breaks him. Tears down the dam holding it in.

"And you don't know how to stop having fun. It's always me just sitting here doing what I have to, watching you mess around. I wish I could convince myself to be like that, I promise I do."

The smile was quickly vanishing from Fred. He looks at Cedric with an eyebrow cocked upward, mouth slightly agape, taken aback.

"Then why don't you?"

The Hufflepuff abruptly stands from his chair and moves towards the wall, hands running through his hair, before turning to face Fred. Stress lines his features. The notion of all this pent up dissatisfaction sits poorly with him.

"Because I have to make my parents proud, it's not a choice! I feel like if I don't, I'll be a complete failure in their eyes. You never seem to worry about that. You never seem to worry about anything. You're carefree and easygoing. I would do so much to be like that."

It takes seconds before he starts to feel horrible about what he said. By then, it's too late to stop Fred from processing the words.

Fred leans forward with his arms onto the table, looking directly into Cedric's face. The brown of his eyes reflects slight anger with the simultaneous gleam of pain.

"You think I don't know it's like to feel like a failure? George and I have been hearing how much worse we are than our brothers for years."

Cedric failed to produce a response right away. Those words cut him deep. All this, because Fred hadn't been doing his meaningless Transfiguration homework. He felt stupid, ridiculous even, for bringing it up.

Fred joined in assuming a standing position. The chair was pushed in close to the table, however, signifying that there was no intention of returning to that seat.

"Fred, wait . . I-"

"Don't worry, I won't disturb your hard work anymore today. I'll go bother someone else with my constant fun."

His bag was thrown over his shoulder, a scowl on his face. He couldn't bring himself to make eye contact again.

Thoughts cycled through him. Cedric had been his safe place. An escape from the pressure that anyone else put on him. When that sanctity was put into question, it was overwhelming.

Where was he meant to go then?

That question penetrated him and lingered. But this wasn't the place he wanted to stay to contemplate the answer.

So he left.

There's silence for a long time.

Fred resumes his weekly ritual of leaning against the stone, back uncomfortably propped up by the wall. He has his knees brought up close to his chest. Elbows rest on top of those knees, and he holds his face delicately in his hands, fingers sliding up into his hair.

Cedric looks at him with sadness in those grey, misty eyes.

No doubt both of them were reliving things they had long wished to forget.

The hands leaned up against Fred's skin are pushed upward to fully run through his ginger locks before they are placed onto his legs, giving his head a place to rest on.

"I hate that I ran out like that."

"You had every reason to."

"But you were right. You still are."

Cedric doesn't answer. He just maintains his downcast expression, not breaking his attention off from the guilt-ridden boy in front of him.

"I guess it just . . scared me. Having someone other than Mum be so honest. All the others encourage me, cheer me on, they never hold me back. You were the only one to see the problem. And I still haven't listened."

The ghost dares to come closer.

"I'm glad you didn't listen. Those things I talked about are just a few of the reasons I fell for you. I'd never met anyone quite like you before."

Lifting his head, Fred looks to him, a question on his lips.

"Then why did you get so upset?"

The question is not at all aggressive in nature. It's dripping with genuine curiosity, a drive for complete understanding.

"I felt like I had to do everything I could to make sure your life would be perfect. Anything to make sure you would end up fine."

He pauses to stifle a grin.

"But I think you're going to be just fine."

That one sentence is powerful. They both smile at each other. A real, unadulterated smile. For Fred, it's reassurance from the one he treasures it from most. It's a promise that one day, he'll wake up and things will be as they were meant to be, with him happily running a business with his best friend. It's a vow that one day, he'll be able to move on. He'll find a handsome man to grow old with, just as he had wanted to with Cedric. They'll be so happy together.

And for Cedric, it's something even better. It's him knowing that Fred will be alright without him. The thought of him living for another hundred years, getting to live the life he deserves, the pride that his love will get to experience all of his dreams, and that they'll be everything he wanted and more.

He'll grow up.

And he'll become something so much larger than life.


	11. Eleven.

Cedric had told him that what he had said in the memory was a mistake, that he had regretted it.

Fred interpreted it differently now. He listened.

The next morning, at breakfast, he told George that he was ready to start working on their dream again. He explained why in the simplest and most concise way possible. The explanation didn't matter much to George anyway; it was the idea of being back in business with his twin that occupied his thoughts and wishes. That mattered so much more.

It was promised that they could start as soon as their schedules allowed. George was gleefully impatient as they suffered through their few classes. His face was never painted with a blank expression. There was a perpetual smile there, whether it was the full thing or it was simply the corner of his mouth twitched up into a playful smirk. Nothing could contain his enthusiasm, nor his joy and his pride. This meant more than just working together again. It was another milestone altogether. George knew that Fred approaching him with this proposition meant that Fred was finally starting to return to how he was before. And this time, he was confident it would last.

They found their positions, naturally, up in the dormitory. George had brought out all the products and other essentials he had stowed away at the beginning of the school year. He had previously packed them with the hope that this day would come, that there would be an opportunity for all of it to be put to use again. Now, the pair were surrounded by a circle of bright orange and purple boxes, with a small stack of order forms placed beside them.

"What are these?"

"New orders, from today. I grabbed them right after you told me you were ready to start again and passed them around to everyone. These are all the ones I got back after classes.'

Fred's eyes widened as he grabbed the stack and started flicking through. The height of the pile impressed him beyond words; there had to be just around fifty. All from one day. He saw names he recognized: Lee Jordan, Seamus Finnigan, even Katie Bell, whom he had yet to fully apologize to. There were plenty of others whom he couldn't recall or whom he had never met.

"You're kidding, right?"

"I am not. Seems like people are just as excited as we are."

It was then that the pride showed most obviously in George's face. Their classmates were calling out to them, rejoicing in their grand return. They hadn't forgotten, as Fred had worried they might. This all meant something to more than just himself and his brother.

They were part of something huge.

And Fred knew just how much that meant to Cedric.

He grabbed that first order form, the one that came from Lee. In a turn of events that would shock absolutely no one, their mutual best friend had ordered a Skiving Snackbox. Fred shifted over to investigate the various boxes George had laid out, searching for the right one. Each was labeled with handwriting that looks similar to his; he had to look at about five before finding the one that contained what he was looking for.

The Skiving Snackbox had been their pride and joy when it was first imagined and it had remained so throughout all of their other inventions. The versatility of that product would be considered legendary by any who sought to purchase it. Nothing else in the world made it so easy to avoid going to boring classes.

As he sifted through the different compartments, one with Fever Fudge and another containing Fainting Fancies, a quiet laugh escaped his lips. It occurred to him how helpful these may have been to him in these past months. If mourning the death of your boyfriend wasn't a valid enough reason to escape class, projectile vomiting surely would have been.

"You've been hiding these from me all year?" He jests, glancing back to his brother.

"All you had to do was ask," George replies, grinning.

"C'mon, I was rubbish at Divination. How was I supposed to just somehow know you brought everything?"

The other doesn't bother responding. He just bites at his lip to keep a laugh from coming out and return to what he was doing, organizing the forms by product.

Fred continues his exploration through the creative genius of Weasley's Wizards Wheezes. Memories began flooding back into his mind. He can think of the days that the idea for these different products was initially hatched. Hours spent in the Burrow, hidden away in their room, door locked to keep their family from intruding. They experimented and altered their methods countless times before finally getting it right. Through rigorous testing, which often involved endangering themselves quite carelessly, they perfected their craft into something beyond what should have been expected for mere teenagers. The impossible had been accomplished, better yet by those that everyone else seemed to think little of.

In that last memory, Cedric had mentioned just how important it was that he made his parents proud. He had insinuated that Fred couldn't care less about what others thought of him. It was not entirely untrue; he and George thought very little of what the average Hogwarts student had to say about them and their subtle debauchery. His parents were something of a different story. Cedric had always done a much better job of displaying his love and adoration for his parents. That was clear, non-negotiable. But that did nothing to diminish how much Fred cared for his own. Making them proud was important to Fred and George as well. For them, however, it was a much more difficult task. What they accomplished and what they proved they were capable of was not conventional. It was so easy to see how Amos Diggory fawned over his son. Cedric was a model student, exceptionally kind, one of the best in his class. Even their brothers before them made it so simple. They all had talents that translated well into secure careers, ones they could depend on for the rest of their lives.

Fred and George were different. But to them, that didn't matter. This was their dream. It was convincing others to join in and believe in it that proved difficult.

As he looked around the room now, glancing at the boxes full of their creations and sheets filled with names of people who wanted to support them, Fred felt a surge of confidence. If he hadn't been assured of the shop's immediate success before, this did everything to confirm it.

Their dream was coming true, and they would make their parents proud.

Cedric would be proud.

"Hey, Fred? I've been thinking about something, and I wanted to ask you about it."

"Go on." Attention is shifted from a package of Nosebleed Nougats.

"I've just been wondering a lot about all this today, and ... why wait?"

An eyebrow is raised.

"Care to explain what you mean by that?"

"What I mean, Freddie, is that there's no point in us staying here much longer. We get these orders done, and with the money Harry gave us, we'll have enough to start the shop. We can find a way to escape and go live our lives. No more stupid classes, no more dealing with that toad Umbridge anymore."

He pauses before adding, "What do you say?"

It's difficult to argue with the logic. They're ready; completing their education is not a necessity.

And yet, things are drawing him in to stay, namely the Pensieve and Cedric. Memories could always come back to him later, over the years, that was true. The ghost was a containing tale. He would be unable to leave Hogwarts, trapped there, lacking the freedom to come home with Fred. As long as Cedric existed within these halls, there was a reason to stay.

George watches carefully as his proposition is pondered. It seems like hours have passed by before he gets an answer, and a disappointing one at that.

"You're right. We should leave. The time is right." There's hesitation lingering at the end of that statement, hesitation easily picked up on by George.

"But?"

"But I can't. The memories are here and that's something I can't leave behind."

That response is acknowledged with a sigh. It should have been expected, he should have been able to predict this would happen. It was frustrating. Nonetheless, George could not be brought to annoyance over the matter. The effect the memories had on his brother was profound, like nothing he had seen before. It was challenging to forget the first time Fred had experienced them. The light in his eyes as he retold the events, explained what joy Dumbledore's office had brought that evening.

Something still bothered him. Fred's refusal to leave made it clear.

George decides to breach the issue, treading carefully whilst he does.

"Do you ever wonder if the memories aren't the greatest idea?"

Fred instantly tenses up, eyebrows furrowing, mouth opening out of both confusion and quiet shock. His head is tilted, eyes pooling with concern.

"No, no I don't." His tone is a bit forced, diluted with a hint of raspiness.

That reaction was anticipated. Of course, the memories would have no apparent flaws to the one that they directly delivered their service to. At face value, it was a perfect idea. Getting to relive your time with a deceased loved one could provide comfort, and eventually, closure. To George, the problem lied with the closure factor. No doubt some could watch those memories unfold and process them maturely, realizing that the times shared were something to look back on fondly, not to view them as a coping mechanism.

That was what George was beginning to see. The memories had caused a dependency to form within his best friend, one that had taken root long before this conversation. Fred could no longer be happy without them. The consistency had always provided something to look forward to. That was an idea that had been foreign to the mourning party all throughout the summer.

That was different now. They had a collective project to look forward to.

George moves over to his brother and places his hands on his shoulder.

"I just worry about you sometimes. All the time, really."

Seizing the moment, arms come around, engulfing Fred in a close hug. Eyes are closed and a breath is released, allowing the tension within his abdominal cavity to dissipate.

"How are you going to move on from him if you can't last a week without seeing his face again?"

The question is asked gently, in a quiet voice, intending to sound as peaceful as he possibly can.

Fred is stunned. He can't provide an answer because he doesn't have one. It's a perfect question. Something he should have considered before. He had begun to edge close to analyzing what it asked back just before Christmas when his father was attacked. He knew then just how dependent he was on the memories. Losing that stability and continuity for a week impacted him beyond his control.

He could only imagine what the months after graduation would be like. Maybe by then, he will have accepted the loss of the memories. By then, he can say goodbye to the ghost, difficult as that moment will be to experience.

So much of his happiness was tethered to that spot in Dumbledore's Office. George was right, even if he wouldn't venture to admit it at this moment.

His eyes just stared forward, focusing on one random spot in the wall. Seconds rushed by without any words being spoken. He tightened his grip on his brother, who returned that motion. They had shared a multitude of embraces like this one during both their youth and their school years. This one felt different from the rest. It felt so much more grounded, like George was grabbing him by the ankle and pulling him back down to Earth, away from his unattainable fantasies.

Neither dared to alter their position. They stayed together, two souls intertwined as one.

"Don't stay stuck in the past, Freddie. Come live in the future with me."

Seeing an order form with Katie's name on it plants the idea in his head.

He'd waited long enough to gift her a formal apology. For all he knew, she may not have even gotten his original note. And George was right.

She deserved more than that.

Fred placed himself outside of the History of Magic classroom during one of his free periods, waiting for the class to end. He leaned up against the wall and patiently bided his time; it was difficult to keep himself steady. Eyes drifted all over the hallways, searching for one thing to focus on that could steady him. Nervousness was a relatively foreign feeling, yet it was one that was being experienced now.

It wasn't often he or George ever apologized for something stupid they had done. This just happened to be the most special of circumstances.

Katie was one of the last ones to exit Professor Binns' classroom. Another girl accompanied her, walking by her side. The first good sign of the encounter came when Katie appeared to have no intention of ignoring both his presence and his gaze. That small aspect instilled a good amount of confidence in Fred.

He called out to her before she could get away, "Can I talk to you?"

The friend said her goodbyes and scurried off to join up with a different group of Hufflepuffs. Fred led Katie off to the side, away from the prying eyes and ears of others. It wasn't that he was paranoid; there was no doubt in his mind that their shared secret had remained exactly that, pardoning the few close allies who knew. He simply felt that it was important to get this as correct as he possibly could.

"I just wanted to apologize to you. Actually apologize."

Katie then proceeded to something that surprised him quite a lot.

"You don't have to do that."

A tilt of the head, raise of a brow.

"But-"

"You obviously had a reason for doing what you did. And you also felt horrible about it. That was very clear when you ran away from me." There's a smile on her face, almost like she wants to break out into charming laughter, something she was prone to doing. Her happiness was contagious; Fred found a great challenge in restraining his lips from curling backward.

She continues, "It's okay. I already forgave you."

That does it. He joins her in smiling, letting go of any doubts about its appropriateness. A friend was returning to his usual company. That was a good reason for facial celebration.

He extends a hand.

"Truce?"

And yet again, she surprises him.

That hand is completely ignored in favor of something much more befitting of longtime friends. Katie gains a wider grin on her face as she throws her arms around him, pulling him into a hug full of warmth and compassion. Just as George had done, up in their dormitory.

She releases him and offers one further look of joy before turning around and departing.

Fred is left standing there to contemplate their wonderful interaction when he hears her voice another time, calling out as he previously had.

"Hey, Fred?"

"Yeah?"

"It's nice to see you smile again."

This week is an answer to the fallout of last week. It's a conclusion to the miserable affair.

A happy ending, if you will.

Cedric is leading him, hand in hand, over to their spot by the lake. He's trying to pull even harder than he is; the only reason he restrains himself is out of concern for the other arm temporarily attached to his own.

The excitement is obvious on his face. What would normally contain a subdued expression now showcased a million emotions at once. His smile was wide enough to force his signature dimple to expose itself, cratering deep into his skin. Grey eyes seemed to shine as bright as the moon did in the night sky, focused forward on their destination.

Before them was a sprawling picnic. It reminds Fred of the feats in the Great Hall, with all its grandeur, platters scattered around the tables, begging to be consumed.

This was their own table, with nobody there to disturb them.

"I asked the house elves for some help. They were more than happy to."

A blanket of a rich maroon color covered the grass where they would enjoy their meal. On each of the corners was a basket holding different kinds of foods. There was a common theme thread between all four: they were all of Fred's favorites. Cedric had listened carefully during their conversations and had paid close attention to all the breakfasts, lunches, and dinners the two had shared in the Great Hall.

They took their seats in the middle of the blanket, and Fred began to admire the work of his wonderful boyfriend. It would have been difficult enough to stay mad at him for too long; this made that a nearly impossible task. Such dedication to achieving perfection was a rare trait amongst humans. It was almost hard to be surprised, though.

Of course Cedric would be able to pull this off. This is just his style.

Repetitive searches through each of the baskets just out more obvious elation from Fred. Soft laughter comes out of him, partially just from shock at the accuracy.

"I wish I could convince Mum to do something like this every once in a while."

Cedric scoots closer and links their arms together. His hand is slide into one belonging to Fred, interlocking their fingers. He gives a loving squeeze and beams.

"You like it?"

"It's incredible."

Leaning his head onto Fred's shoulder, Cedric asks, "Good enough for you to forgive me?"

A hand reaches up to stroke the brunette's cheek, thumb brushing over his skin, circling on the top of his cheekbone. There's a cocky grin flashed.

"Not quite. You'll have to come up with something even better."

The quip is made with no intention of revealing some truth behind it. Even so, the other gains a gleam in his eyes that bears an unmistakable resemblance to that of someone with great plans. One that Fred himself had been seen with many a time before hatching an elaborate scheme.

"Well, luckily for you, I have just the thing. But you'll have to finish eating first."

Not much prodding was required to make that request come true. Fred buried himself into the shockingly fresh cuisine, alternating between the various baskets. There he found a supply of roast potatoes nearly too big for even him to finish. Opposite of that was a turkey cooked to utmost excellence, insinuating that the house elves were aware of how important this occasion was to Cedric, that they had vowed to serve him well. The other two baskets held desserts within their woven exteriors, namely a beautiful pumpkin pie and an assortment of doughnuts to choose from.

Fred consumed the majority of the food, as Cedric had both hoped for and expected. The portions he took were minuscule in comparison, but that was something he took no displeasure in experiencing. This was intended for Fred. Any other way would be disappointing.

Cedric took this time to avert his attention over to the more fascinating segment of his elaborate apology plan. Sitting just inside the lake, tied carefully to the tree they loved to lean against, was a boat, the perfect size for two. Anticipation brewed when his eyes caught sight of the wooden object moving with the water, bobbing up and down ever so slightly. It called out to him.

The idea for the boat was a mystery to Cedric. He had not a real clue as to how he imagined it, nor where the inspiration sprung from. Being innovative in the methods to impress his love was an important thing, of course, but this was a plan that even managed to make him proud of his actions, uncharacteristic for someone usually so humble.

Hagrid was the person he went to asking for help. This was due in part to the fact that, from a logical standpoint, the gamekeeper was likely the most well-equipped to help out on this particular job.

The likelihood of him failing to ask many questions was another reason.

Working together, the boat was secured and brought down to the lake. It was bound to the tree with tedious focus, and with a confident smile, Cedric left to go do some convincing.

Everything that had happened so far was soaring beyond his expectations. Fred had been so complimentary of the meal that was provided. By the time he stated he was finished, there was hardly anything left over.

The finale was upon them.

Cedric stood up and grabbed Fred's hand. With the same strength he had used to bring the uncharacteristically apprehensive redhead down to this spot in the first place, he bounded for the lake.

An atmospheric background seemingly tailored to their needs was developing. The sun was disappearing over the horizon, creating a painting up in the sky, a watercolor blending of the most gorgeous hues of red, orange, and pink. They cascaded together, forging the most welcoming sight, one that beckoned the couple to come live freely under its protection. To do anything but bask in its glory would be heretical.

Ghosts of stars lined the space above their heads. They pushed forward through the layers of color, wanting to witness the spectacle beneath them, becoming an audience to a most charming display of youthful romance.

Cedric made quick work of the knot. The rope is tossed aside, forgotten about.

Without needing a verbal invitation, Fred clambers into the boat with unbreakable zeal, so much so that he nearly capsizes. Loud laughter ensues, as well as an expression of consternation from Cedric. Once he is reassured of the other's safety, he joins, treading much more carefully than the always brave Gryffindor had before him.

They set off, allowing the water to carry them wherever desired.

Perfect fails to encapsulate what happens next. Grey eyes lock onto brown, softening the moment that they do. Long slender fingers grab hold of those opposite, lacing together, finding their proper home. A gentle squeeze is given.

Fred is the first to break into a wide grin. Cedric follows him seconds after. They revel in the delight that exists between them, coursing through every vein and every artery in their bodies.

"Are we allowed to be out here?" It's the renowned troublemaker that asks this. The question would be a shocking one to hear from him if not for the obvious manner in which he jokes around with the subject, in a playfully mocking way.

The prefect and model student delivers an unexpected response with such ease.

"I don't care."

Any space between them is eliminated when Fred reaches his head forward, bringing his lips onto Cedric's. The gentle union happens as the stars become brighter, cheering for the romantic exhibition taking place.

These great admirers watch as the two lovers become entangled in the spirit of each other, seeming to forget everything else occurring in the world.

Knowing themselves and only themselves.

"I've seen loads of brilliant things in my lifetime, but that .. that night was something I hope I never forget."

In a rare turn of events, both himself and the ghost are in high spirits. Not a word is said without at least a small trace of a smile on their faces. More laughter is shared.

"My proudest achievement."

Fred isn't sitting down this time. He moves around the office, walking around in erratic patterns, making occasional gestures to different corners and areas of the space.

"I still can't believe you actually did that. I mean, that had to be breaking some ridiculous rule they have at this school."

The ghost glances over to the large chair pushed in behind the Headmaster's desk.

"Dumbledore must've liked us. Maybe that's why he let us off."

The pacing stops, and Fred joins Cedric by his side.

"What's not to love?"

One rolls his eyes and the other only increases the volume of his laughter. It's laughably easy to predict which behavior was attributed to which boy.

Time passes. A thought enters Fred's mind.

"I can't believe George suggested leaving this place early."

The tone of the statement makes it seem as if it's meant to be taken as a joke, something ridiculous. Cedric sees it differently. Most of the smile is instantly wiped off from his countenance. He looks towards the ground and leans his head to the side. A signal of deep thought. Drifting away, he remains in this state before turning back around to face Fred.

"Is that such a bad idea?"

Bewilderment. Shock. Utter confusion. That is how the question is received.

"Don't you want me here?"

"Of course I do," Cedric drifts closer, raising his pale, silvery arms and reaching out for Fred, "But maybe George is right. About everything. Maybe leaving would be the best way to move on."

When he hears that, steps are taken backward.

Cedric shouldn't know about that conversation. He wasn't there in the dormitory when George had first brought up the idea. The topics they discussed were private information, something that only Fred knew of. He would've gladly shared had he needed to if Cedric had asked.

Yet it seemed like that wasn't necessary.

An internal conflict begins to rage within his brain. Two clear sides emerge, both with their individual benefits and downsides.

Should he ask, and risk offending, risk embarrassing the person he loved most dearly?

Or should he stay quiet, let it go, dismiss it as nothing?

"I just want you to be happy."

He chooses the latter.

"I am happy. With you."


	12. Twelve

Uncertainty remained in his mind long after he walked out of the office doors.

An opportunity to ponder the possibilities was seized that night. Still refusing to sleep full nights, Fred often spent the late hours thinking about whatever he wanted to. Sometimes it was thoughts as simple as what he had done in his classes that day. Other times, it would be replaying the contents of the conversations that were experienced, hearing the words again, complimenting himself on a joke well told, or silently protesting the potential mistakes made in his speech. The hours of darkness provided a nice outlet for these observations.

What he had to contemplate this time was at least exciting, if not in an unfortunate way.

How had Cedric known about George?

A more scholarly view takes the first approach. It relies on the things he already knew to be true, the facts. Ghosts were capable of moving through walls and getting places where nobody else could. Perhaps Cedric had snuck out of Dumbledore's Office, drifted out of its walls, and up to pay a visit to the Gryffindor Common Room. He was able to float around when he had his conversations with Cedric; it wasn't implausible that he hovered outside of the window, listening in on the discussion between himself and George. Exposing his ghostly form was not an option, that had long since been stated. Secrecy was ideal. That would explain why the knowledge of the visit was personal to Cedric and Cedric only.

The next proposition is that Cedric came to the conclusion all on his own.

At first, it seemed ridiculous, but with more attention focused on that idea, it became more realistic. Cedric had always been and still was an incredibly intelligent boy. He was quiet about it. Never bragged, had to be coaxed into admitting it, given how humble he was. That justified the fact that it was mentioned spontaneously. He had taken all the context clues from their weeks spent conversing and merged them together, realizing that George was just as concerned for Fred's wellness as he was. It was possible was disguising his feelings as ones belonging to George, rationalizing that the twins would trust each other more than Fred would trust the close council of a ghost.

Lastly, Fred comes up with something that seems obvious.

That he's overthinking.

With all the meticulous consideration he had centered in on discovering the answer, Fred had failed to realize that there was a chance that none of it was even necessary.

Maybe Cedric just simply knew, was intuitive enough to figure everything out. Maybe he was just saying those things to provide comfort and reassurance that any decision his former boyfriend made would be alright, that he really did just want him to be happy.

Maybe, just maybe, worrying about it was more trouble than it was worth.

That's the conclusion Fred settles on.

In the last meeting of Dumbledore's Army, they worked on Patronuses.

It was a prospect that delighted everyone when Harry announced it to all those standing around in the Room of Requirement. Chatter broke out instantly, with friends leaning over to make their predictions on what theirs would be, or just to comment on the known difficulty of casting one.

The instructions seemed simple enough.

Think of a powerful, happy memory.

He had plenty of those, right?

Fred searched through every crevice in his mind, analyzed every single recollection he could muster up. All the things he had reminisced on in Dumbledore's Office came to him, front and center, but he went deeper. It had to be powerful. It had to be so meaningful. Choosing something of that much importance would be arduous, and unnecessarily so.

He lands on one. Telling Cedric he loved him. That ought to do it.

Harry has everyone spread out around the room, making sure to allow adequate space from person to person. He paces between everyone and starts giving out more detailed instructions, providing more insight on how to get into the proper mindset.

The incantation is repeated, though by now that isn't needed. Every single student had already spent the time between the moment they discovered it was their subject of the day and now going over it in their heads, ensuring they would get it right.

Clear your mind, he says. Fred can't help but scoff to himself.

If only it were that easy.

Concentrate on your memory. Focus entirely on it, and it only.

His eyes close. There, he can see everything again, just as he had done previously in the Pensieve. The way Cedric looked at him and placed his hands delicately against cheeks just beginning to blush, how his beautiful eyes almost seemed to shine, brighter than any star in the sky. All the details came so easily. He could picture a soft breeze gilding through Cedric's hair, tousling it. He could remember how their breathing aligned, coming together as if part of one great machine, working in conjunction to power some wonderful mechanism.

In the Pensieve, he had been a spectator. It was different now. He was seeing through an individualized perspective as if transported back into that very moment.

Mere inches from Cedric. Looking into his eyes. Feeling alive.

Fred smiles. Others around him begin casting, obvious by the vivacious sounds of their cries, putting forth as much passion into the incantation as could be deemed appropriate.

His wand is lifted. A breath is released, allowing all the air to flow out of his lungs, before it is ingested back in, filling him with the energy demanded.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A quick second or two passes before his eyes fly open to investigate the reward for his efforts.

Nothing. Just the remainder of some silvery wisps, rapidly disappearing.

Lips bend into an immediate frown. Frantic looks are given every which way, watching everyone else perform the spell. Diaphanous creatures roamed both the floor and the sky. A Jack Russell terrier chased after an otter, the latter of which was darting through the air as if it were a bird. From Ginny's wand sprung a gallant horse, which stood on its hind legs to deliver a triumphant whinney before galloping off to become a part of the menagerie.

Beside him, George observed as a magpie poured out and flew high above, circling a few times.

And he had nothing.

Of course, Fred Weasley was never one to shy away from a challenge. Being subtle was never his thing, and neither was stepping down from a fight.

He tried again, and again, and again. No luck.

Harry had said to clear your mind and concentrate. Fred was absolutely sure he had done both of those. Yet, with every new attempt to cast, doubt crept in, closer and closer until it overtook the confidence. The first negative assumption produced was that the mind just was not clear enough.

That only made him mad.

And anger inspires further resentment. A disaster when the intention is to focus.

Every possible question featured the same miniature question within.

Why?

And there was no good answer.

Because what could possibly explain the circumstances? By all definitions, a confession of such vehemence should qualify as a powerful and happy memory. How could it not?

Fed was missing one key element.

There's a catch. When the one you shared those memories with loses their life, they become tainted. They morph into something simultaneously so happy and yet so sad.

He tries once more. So drained, so upset, so utterly disappointed, he gives an aggressive flick of the wrist, having some sliver of hope remaining, thinking that maybe this will be the one.

Still nothing.

Luckily for him, however, there isn't much time to contemplate the repeated failure and embarrassment before Harry commands everyone to run.

The news spread through Hogwarts like a Wildfire. Dumbledore was gone, and the living embodiment of hell (as she was politely referred to), Dolores Umbridge, was now headmaster.

Students did not handle the revelation well. The only ones who took enjoyment from any of this were the members of the Inquisitorial Squad, though that came as no surprise. They were the ones who had caught those attempting to flee from the Room of Requirement. Umbridge had them wrapped around her stubby, little fingers.

The rest of the student population was in dismay. Most carried saddened expressions on their faces, and those embedded with more bravery than the average person showcased their disdain with pride. Eyes narrowed at any passing member of the Inquisitorial Squad, though judgment against any and all students of Slytherin house was notably not reserved.

Worst of everything was the loss of Dumbledore's Army. It had been a safe space, an escape from all the awful things outside its dominion. The people involved had gotten a chance to be a part of something bigger than themselves, and it had already been ripped away.

For Fred, it was far more than that.

His safe space had been in Dumbledore's Office, where the Pensieve and Cedric would always be waiting for him. It was a consistency he very much both enjoyed and appreciated. A consistency that was now sure to be disrupted.

There was no way that the newly crowned Headmistress Umbridge would allow Fred into her new office. Too many obstacles presented difficulties. One manifested in the known fact that Umbridge strongly disliked both twins of the Weasley family, especially since the outburst that had taken place in her classroom because of her outward denial of Cedric's murder.

She wouldn't care that those weekly visits helped him beyond words.

In fact, if she knew, she would have all the more reason to take the privilege away from him.

His pain would be used as ammunition.

The realization of this loss evolved as the days went on. It progressed from quiet denial to shock to panic. Reminded of his mental state during the Christmas holiday spent at St. Mungo's, Fred anticipated another incident similar to that, directly resultant from the very same threat of inconsistency that plagued him now. He thought about this often as the middle of the following week approached: the usual date for his visits back in time.

Classes are spent in a fit of jittery motion, announcing the worry that inhibited him to all the other students in the room. His leg bounced up and down and he tapped incessantly at the desk. Eyes darted all around the room, looking for something even the slightest bit amusing to distract him.

He always glances over at George, who understands perfectly what all this means.

Despite understanding, in those instances, he feels powerless.

Fred is able to find solace at the end of the first Transfiguration class for the week.

"Mr. Weasley, may I speak with you?"

McGonagall requests his presence as all his classmates begin to shift out of the classroom. George has clear doubts that he is the Mr. Weasley being referred to, and his assumptions prove correct. With a simple goodbye and a promise to meet up later, he is the last one to leave.

The typically stern woman speaks with a more hushed tone than usual, and one more gentle.

"Professor Dumbledore was able to quickly arrange to have the Pensieve moved into my office before his untimely exit. The situation surrounding its use was explained to me, and I am quite sure that it is in both of our best interests to have those visitations continued."

Relief washes over Fred. A smile breaks through his once panicked expression.

"Thank you, Professor. You have no idea how much that means to me."

It was strange to witness her face change from its common look of subtle disappointment to an appearance of happiness, but it is welcomed nonetheless.

"If anyone confronts you about your reasoning for traveling this way, inform them that you are coming for extra lessons. If they don't believe you, tell them to ask me directly. I will vouch for you."

She turns away and walks over to her desk, returning as if nothing has happened. Her face returns to normal and a quill is taken in hand, becoming hard at work.

Fred exits with a newfound appreciation for Minerva McGonagall.

The destination for the memory is a classroom, though it's a different one from the one his body currently occupies.

Flitwick generously allowed Fred and Cedric to have access to his room one day for practice. The date for the Third Task was nearing, much sooner than Cedric liked to admit.

"I promise you don't have to go easy on me. Pretend that I'm Krum."

"And why would I want to attack Krum?"

"You never know. Competition can get brutal." There's a grin on Fred's face as if he enjoys the idea of the champions being forced to duel. He finds it entertaining.

Cedric shakes his head with a smirk and lifts his wand. With a flourish, a jet of light erupts from the end, hitting Fred square in the chest and sending him toppling backward. It's not the first time this has happened in their current training session and yet he laughs as if it is. That level of amusement perplexes the champion doing his best to keep focus and composure.

"It seems like you're enjoying getting hit around so much."

"Not true. Laughing just makes the pain less extreme."

He hops up and resumes the same position as before, ready to take another spell.

They repeat this process time and time again. Ten times the overenthusiastic redhead is shoved to the floor and ten times does he stand right back up again. But he's not satisfied quite yet. He has more faith in the boy across from him, and he intends to push him farther.

"C'mon, Ced. You can do better than that. Go for it, I can take it."

The encouragement fuels Cedric, achieving its goal. He adjusts his stance, seemingly getting taller, eyebrow raised at the challenge. A wider smile is fought back as higher self-assurance enters the stage, playfully threatening to cause the Hufflepuff's humble reputation to crumble.

Invigorated by the good-natured taunts coming from Fred, he casts the spell with such passion and such power that the other is pushed back a greater distance than any of the other attempts had managed to accomplish. The ginger is thrown to the ground, making contact with a loud thump. Cedric watches, expression softening, worried that he hurt him.

Fred merely looks up at the ceiling and chuckles again.

"Now that's more like it."

With more difficulty than before, he arises.

Wand raised.

"But I still think you can do better."

Cedric just stares, wondering whether to be impressed at his persistence or disgruntled by his stupidity. He chooses the former as a temporary solution.

The spell is cast again with the same commitment he laid down before.

Only this time, it's deflected, and sent right back towards him.

Fred doesn't even bother holding back his snort as he sees the surprised gleam in Cedric's eyes as he finally experiences the feeling of being sent in the other direction. Waltzing over, a hand is extended, and he pulls Cedric back up to a standing position.

A wink is sent his way, along with a justification.

"Couldn't handle letting you have all the fun."

"I'm glad to see you're still here."

"You can't get rid of me that easily, Freddie."

Fred finds himself sitting on top of McGonagall's desk, aware that the action may be interpreted as rude by the Professor, still choosing to prioritize his attention on Cedric.

When he first emerged from the memory, it was half-expected that the ghost would be nowhere to be found. Stuck in Dumbledore's Office without a chance for escape, staring at the new person who now inhabited that desk through the walls. Too nervous to plot a way to get to where the Pensieve was, scared of being spotted by another professor or even a student that would recognize him.

Whatever the case was, he had made it here safely, and that was what mattered to Fred.

"Did it help? My extensive training?" Sarcasm lines the question, though some form of sincerity is tucked beneath the surface.

"I think so. It made me more confident, that's for sure."

Hearing that makes Fred euphoric. That had been the ultimate goal. Teasing and making demands to be attacked more viciously may have seemed like nothing more than just an innocent game; there was, however, a method to the madness. It had been a clever way to test just how far Cedric would go to prove himself.

The results were beautiful. And so satisfying.

All the same, a feeling resembling dejection pricks Fred like the thorns of a rose.

"If I had done more . . . would you still be alive?"

Nothing could have prepared the contented ghost for that question. The words bring pain, a sensation that he thought impossible to still even experience.

"You can't blame yourself, Freddie. Not at all. What happened is nobody's fault except the ones directly responsible. You weren't the one standing in that graveyard waiting to ambush me."

He pauses.

"If you blame yourself, you'll never be able to forgive yourself. And if that happens, you'll never be able to move past me."

"What if I don't want to?"

This debate has become a neverending cycle, rotating between a refusal to let go and a bittersweet acceptance that there's no other choice but to do so. It's exhausting, though to whom it is more so is another debate in itself.

Cedric is frustrated. He tries to cover that up with his soothing voice.

"That's a lie. We've talked about this before. You're going to move past me and you're going to find happiness some other way. I know you will."

Fred meets his eyes. Searching for hope, in any way it will come.

"Promise me. Make me believe it too."

The ghost comes close, as close as he possibly can without phasing through pure matter. He utilizes the most perfect traits of his face, crafting a gorgeously built smile, the thing that Fred always loved so dearly, most of any other aspect of him.

"You will. But only if you let it happen."


	13. Thirteen.

"Are you ready?"

"Absolutely not."

They're standing on the shore of the lake, looking out over the water. Side by side, arms linked together for good measure. Outward appearances tell the world that everything is fine and that everything is calm. The inner workings of one body in particular tell otherwise.

Little things give true dispositions away. Cedric has his jaw clenched tighter than normal and his free hand is in constant motion, the fingers wriggling all around, unable to remain still. Fred depends on brief glances to his side, optics scanning over the features of the other. It is, however, mostly internal. Both remain quiet but their thoughts are screaming. They talk of panic, stress, of apprehension.

For Cedric, the single most important day of his life thus far is approaching. The day where he has the chance to truly make his parents proud, to make his entire school proud, to show to everyone that he was always worthy of their appreciation and support. That brings pressure beyond the ideal amount. His talent is without question. Skills have been trained for weeks, for months, to prepare for this event. And yet, there is so much tension rising through his muscle, making it feel as though his skin is tightening and as though he is being forced out of his body. The most uncomfortable feeling imaginable. The weight of the world, situated just between his shoulders, bearing down hard.

For Fred, he has to confess fear to himself. That was a new experience. Of course, he had been fearful before; no human alive could lie and say they were never afraid. This time was different. More real. It was accepting the fact that genuine danger was right in front of them, taunting the security of the very foundation on which their courtship rested. Life. This was not the time for jokes, an extremely foreign concept to Fred. Up until that point, any discomfited scenario had the potential of being eased by some good humor. Family arguments, disagreements with teachers, squabbles with friends, they could all benefit from a stupid punchline. At this moment, Cedric deserved better than a witty companion. He needed someone who was truly supportive, someone who could inspire his best mental state, someone who could manage to lift even a minuscule portion of the pressure. Fred had to be that person. He has to be brave.

And he was scared.

He tries not to show that. His face gives no signs of complete and utter hysteria. That, at a minimum, was helpful to Cedric.

The Hogwarts champion squeezes the arm he has a grip on hard and turns his head to look at Fred, eyes begging for some assistance, to make him feel better.

"What if I'm not good enough? What if I get in there and make myself look like an idiot?"

Action is taken immediately. The link is broken in favor of a close touch. Hands reach for his face, cradling pale skin. Thumbs run over cheekbones, a standard procedure for an embrace as intimate as this one. Best of all, there's a smile. It is manufactured to be as comforting as one could be, when its owner is suffering from the same level of stress as its recipient.

"There is no one in this entire school better than you are. You'll never admit that, but I promise you that it is completely true. Why do you think a hundred people are sitting up in their dorms right now painting banners with your name on them?"

"I don't think that's-"

"Because they believe in you. Just like I do."

The idea takes root. Cedric allows his lips to move into an expression resembling relief. A sigh is released. Facial features soften, including the tension in his jaw. Arms slide around the waist of his love, initiating a gentle grip, soft enough not to leave any identifiable pressure.

He's not entirely convinced, but it's a start. And that's more than enough.

Fred reaches over to press a tender kiss to his forehead. His lips linger, choosing to remain there as long as it takes for Cedric to be reassured that he is so incredibly loved.

The contact is broken and Fred retracts his head back, just enough to be able to look into his stunning grey eyes. Those eyes never failed to amaze him. Even looking into them half a million times could never be enough to fully appreciate their beauty. Getting lost inside the depth, inside the ashen wonderland, was dangerously easy.

"You're going to walk into that maze and you're going to come back out holding that trophy. The whole school will cheer for you, call out your name. I'll jump down from the stands and run over to you, and after I get a chance to admire your prize, I'll tell you just how proud I am of you, and how I knew all along that this would happen. How I told you so."

A grin with a hint of cockiness emerges with the utterance of that last declaration. Unable to keep such close proximity without completing the gesture, Fred brushes their lips against each other for a brief moment before pressing them together. His arms move to come around his neck, pulling the boy even further into his embrace, so gingerly with his touch.

Space is provided between the two once more. Fred looks at Cedric with such admiration and devotion that one might be fooled into thinking they had already been enthralled by each other for a time much longer than just a few months.

"You're going to win."

Fred emerges from the Pensieve both elevated by jubilation and weighed down by melancholy. It had always been one of his greatest gifts, the ability to instill confidence into those who needed it most. The degree to which it worked that day surprised him then and it still surprised him now. Cedric constantly doubted himself, his abilities, and every aspect of his existence. He displayed himself to the usual crowds as someone who was nonchalant about all those things. As someone who had little worry about what was happening in the present and what would eventually occur in the future. It was a charade, intended to conceal those authentic beliefs.

So when Fred was able to break through that shell and get him to smile, to get him to feel even the slightest bit happier when the boy was so close to imploding from nerves . . .

It was remarkable.

And yet none of it came true. The whole thing had become an unintentional lie. Cedric had been promised wholeheartedly that he would win. He was told that there was no doubt whatsoever that by the time the tournament was over, it would be banners of black and gold waved high in the air, cheers from those of Hufflepuff house that would be the loudest. The result could not have been bleaker. Cedric may have been a partial victor, but the price he had to pay for that glory was his life.

A horrible thought comes to fruition, and once it's there it refuses to disperse. In his final moments, had Cedric thought back on those words? When he faced death, had he imagined Fred telling him that there was no one better and that he inspired so many people with his talent? Even worse, did he look upon the trophy one final time and think about all those people waiting for him back at Hogwarts? No doubt he could have imagined their faces.

His dad, all his classmates, those who supported him throughout the year.

And Fred, sitting there, patiently waiting to see his boyfriend again. Longing to fulfill the promise he had made, where he would jump down from the stands and run over to him.

Something he never got to do.

"If only you were right." Cedric breaks the silence first. That statement only reinforces the needless guilt already being experienced, though not by intention.

"There's nothing I wish for more. Imagining that this is all just some stupid dream and that when I wake up, you'll be waking out of that maze holding that trophy."

A heavy sigh.

"I know it's not. I know that this is real."

His voice trails off, and Cedric looks after him. Neither knows quite what to say. Reflecting on the past and the finality of death never inspires particularly cheerful conversation afterward. They make eye contact again. Something consistent with bringing much needed soothing.

"You say that like the real thing is so horrible."

Fred doesn't respond.

"There's so much for you to enjoy, Freddie. I'll tell you that as many times as I need to before you start to believe me. Countless people are here for you to entertain with your jokes and your clever pranks. George is here, and I think he may love you even more than I did."

That manages to crack a small smile, but it fades.

"That must be impossible."

Cedric comes beside him, shaking his head, not sternly, but in the same way that a mother playfully chastises her child for a silly little mistake.

"Losing me wasn't the end of the world. Try and remember that."

Before he has time to develop a response (most likely a stubborn rebuttal), the doors to the classroom open and in walks Professor McGonagall, holding a stack of books and parchment that had to have been much too heavy for her to be carrying at such a ripe age.

"Pardon me, Mr. Weasley. I will try not to be much of a disturbance."

She arrives at her desk and begins organizing all her belongings. Fred looks to Cedric with a smile on his face. The prospect of introducing the ghost to someone had never previously crossed his mind but now it seemed inevitable. There was just no way the unforeseen presence of a former student could do anything but delight the professor. Cedric would feel differently about the manner. It was well established that lurking in the offices he was stationed in and showing himself to no others was comfortable. Any other interaction would cause awkwardness that was best avoided at all costs.

"Professor, don't you recognize who I'm speaking to?" A gesture is made towards Cedric, who has to fight the temptation to fly off and choose the path of discretion.

The preoccupied woman sets down the last of the books and turns around.

"I'm afraid that the only person I see in my classroom apart from myself is you, Mr. Weasley."

His face drops. Was this some kind of joke? Had she gone blind? Those were the only logical explanations. Nothing else made sense. Cedric looked a bit different in comparison to the last time he was seen by anyone other than Fred, and he was certainly more see-through, but it was impossible to miss the sight of a ghost.

The confusion manifests in his appearance. Brows furrow so much they appear to knit together as one, eyes narrow with the same design as a falcon analyzing the prey it intends to hunt, and his mouth falls open, at a loss for words.

"Are you joking?"

"No, no, I am not."

She has a few seconds to return to the task she had been performing before another interruption comes.

"How can you not see him? He's right there!"

Frustration was pooling, clotting like blood in the arteries. It was not a joke and yet that reaffirmation added nothing to the understanding of the entire situation. Fred fails to realize just how brash the accusation comes out, how rude it is to speak like that to a professor, particularly one so universally admired as McGonagall.

No response is given. She walks away from her desk, glances once at Fred, concern becoming obvious on her face. Less than a minute later and the door is open. She leaves, leaving him stunned, with no one to share it with but Cedric, who shares in the disorientation.

The next time the door opens, it's not his professor who enters.

It's George. McGonagall follows behind.

Fred rushes forward to greet his brother, pulling him into a tight hug. The other has no qualms with returning the embrace; his problem lies elsewhere.

"Professor McGonagall told me to come and see if I knew anything about the person you were asking her about."

The embrace is released as Fred grins and wastes no time moving back towards Cedric. Just as he had tried to do with McGonagall, he gestures, this time with more vigor.

"Can't you see? It's Cedric. Well, him as a ghost, obviously. I've been talking to him for weeks now, he shows up every time I come to see another memory. We like talking about the things we remember and other things like that."

"Freddie."

"I know I should have told you about him before. I wanted to. He's just scared of seeing anyone else besides me. Though you shouldn't be too frightening, he knows you."

"Freddie."

"What?"

"There's no one there."

Any shred of enthusiasm that returned with the appearance of George is eviscerated. The reaction his body had created when McGonagall expressed doubt was resurfacing, this time even stronger. Confusion was being surpassed, traded for anger. His breathing gets stronger, heartbeat growing faster to meet the demand derived from such an uptake in stress.

"What's wrong with you? He's right there."

Another gesture is given, this one much more aggressive. Fred stares directly at Cedric, looking into his eyes, pleading for some assistance. The ghost utters no words in response; he looks stunned, completely petrified by the events unfolding before them.

George grabs onto his brother and begins examing him. He feels the skin on his forehead, having the reasonable suspicion that a bad illness is behind this. Nothing. Normal.

Everything about him seems normal.

Until he sees the eyes.

When the realization hits, the initial response is disappointment. Disappointment in himself for not noticing the clear problem. Or for noticing and choosing to ignore it. Fred has bags ranging from the skin just above his cheekbones to the side of his nose, on both sides. They are far from the worst ones ever witnessed, but they are pronounced. Eliciting concern. More concern than was ever given by any member of the family or any one of his friends.

George frowns and reaches to touch his brother's face. Gently. Comforting.

"Freddie, when was the last time you slept a full night?"

Fred struggles to realize the relevance of the question to his current frustration. Despite that, he understands the weight that his answer will carry. Honesty is best.

After a pause, he delivers the answer.

"Last June."

Horror penetrates George. His hands come off of his brother and instead come to be positioned over his mouth.

All these nights, he had thought Fred had finally managed to overcome the nightmares of the summer. There was that one night, at the beginning of the term, when the entire dormitory was woken up by terrible screams, the same screams that the Burrow was used to hearing throughout the warm months of June, July, and August. It never happened again after that night. Wishful thinking told George that his twin had managed to recover, to find a way to prevent that from happening again.

Those assumptions had allowed Fred to be consumed by sleep deprivation.

Guilt. It destroyed George.

Perhaps absolution was still an option.

"Professor McGonagall, tell Madam Pomfrey to prepare a bed in the hospital wing."

She departs in a hurry, leaving Fred to stare at his brother in shock.

"What are you doing?"

"Fixing my mistake."

Voices. More than one, in a careful discussion. That's what he wakes up to.

It's an unfamiliar bed, though not all unfamiliar. The hospital wing was softened visited by Quidditch players after their matches. Broken noses, hard falls, any injury on the planet had likely been treated within the walls of this room. Always the rush of teammates coming to see if their beloved Chaser is alright, if their treasured Seeker will be able to play in the next one.

Fred remembered it for another reason. The year previous he had devised the brilliant plan of brewing a simple potion in an attempt to fool an Age Line. That bought of teenage stupidity had landed him and George into the care of Madam Pomfrey, tasked with beard removal.

Why was he here now? An answer wasn't clear.

"I'll make sure it happens."

The sound of George's voice forces him to come entirely out of the comfortable warmth of sleep. He rubs his eyes and props himself up by the elbows.

"Hey, Georgie."

His voice is typical for someone who had just woken up from the best sleep of their life. That is cause enough for his twin to smile. It was a voice he hadn't heard in months.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Why am I here?"

The severity of the situation has yet to settle in on him.

"You were scaring me. Talking about seeing things that weren't there, acting differently. I brought you here to get some sleep. Real sleep. Madam Pomfrey made you a powerful Sleeping Draught. Knocked you out instantly."

Fred listens to the explanation and averts his gaze.

Sleep was a much more wonderful sensation than he had remembered. It almost felt like amnesia now, as if all the bad memories of the previous had been erased, like those confrontations and all the tension was a figment of the wildest imagination. Nothing more was craved. The desire to return to the pillow and the blankets did not exist.

He felt content. This was the first time that could be expressed without it feeling like a lie.

"Where did Cedric go?"

Madam Pomfrey hears this as she works with another student one bed over. The night prior, every detail had been retold and explained best as it could. It was her that had proposed the Sleeping Draught, though the full intention was not disclosed. She explained that it was only meant to relax Fred, enough to allow him a peaceful sleep. George knew what it actually meant: a recovery plan, a way to fix the exponential damage built up.

When she hears the name Cedric mentioned, she turns around and stares at George. A shake of her head is given, and the signal is clear.

Don't tell Fred. It's for his own good. Anger will spoil the progress.

"He's still in the office. Waiting for you to come back next week."

Lying like that is excruciating to George. This was his brother, his best friend since birth. And he had to lie, to tell a horrible, blatant lie, for the sake of recovery.

Fred couldn't know. Not yet.

They spend a week there. Only nights.

The days are enjoyed as they previously were, attending classes and traversing the halls, greeting friends, actually smiling at those passing by. He smiles because he has no idea of the gruesome truth lurking. He smiles because he is under the complete impression that Cedric is still there, that when he returns the following week, another memory will be viewed, and another conversation will be had. They'll laugh again and they'll look back on that memory with fondness. Nothing can stop them. Nothing.

He sleeps soundly every night with the idea in his head that when the next morning comes, he will be one day closer to reuniting with Cedric.

That motivates him.

Cheers. Earsplitting cheers filling the atmosphere, demanding attention.

The energy in the stands is unlike anything ever before seen. Members of every house, united by one singular event, bringing harmony, killing the need for petty rivalries. Banners are held high up in the air, painted with crude letters in support of all four champions. Music carries around. Flitwick conducts his orchestra, playing a boastful piece, invigorating the audience.

In the center, the champions await their destiny.

Fleur Delacour is given some final words of wisdom from Madame Maxine, Viktor Krum receives some harsh critiques and a scowl from Karkaroff. Opposite them, Harry stands beside Dumbeldore but is not given any advice. Hogwarts intends to remain impartial.

Fred stands off to the side, watching as Cedric speaks to his father. He can see flushing cheeks as Amos Diggory lathers his son with every compliment imaginable, expressing just how proud he is of everything that has been accomplished this year.

That brings a playful smirk to the lips of the redhead. There's no real reason he ought to be down with them. Boyfriends were never held to quite the same prestige as headmasters. But he refused to let Cedric go without one final goodbye. Using his talents in persuasion and charisma, Fred convinced enough people that his place when the champions entered the maze was right there with them, not just as a face in the crowd.

When given the chance, he pulls Cedric into the highest embrace they had ever shared.

"Are you ready now?"

"I don't think I have much of a choice."

Laughter is shared, though it is accompanied by traces of nervousness. That was to be expected.

Cedric is the one that kisses Fred this time, so overcome by emotions, so happy to be given the chance to say goodbye. He kisses him gently, holding onto his face as the entire school watches.

A cannon goes off. The signal that it's time to leave. They break apart.

"I love you. You're ready for this. Always have been. Go show everyone how it's done."

Steps are taken away from one another, but breaking eye contact is difficult. They refuse to do it until it's forced, when the Hufflepuff champion has to face the maze, confront his fear.

Another cannon. The champions take their first steps.

"Hey, Ced!"

Turning around upon hearing the shout, Cedric responds, "Yeah?"

"Bring that trophy back to me."

Grey eyes meet brown. Wordless conversations take place. They smile.

"I will."

Cedric Diggory turns around and takes the next steps slowly. One foot after the other, until he finds himself immersed in the maze. Giant walls of greenery close behind him.

The last time he's seen alive.

Fred lifts from the Pensieve. The movement is slow. This has been a moment anticipated for so long. Their last conversation so abruptly cut short. Not this time.

He looks around.

"Ced?"

But he's gone. Truly gone.


	14. Fourteen.

"I want to leave."

"What do you mean?"

"I changed my mind. There's nothing left for me here. I want to leave."

His eyes are red, the skin underneath bloated. Looking deep into his dilated pupils, one can see the perpetually increasing levels of desperation, calling out, begging to be heard. Tousled hair covers his head, with the appearance of someone recently awoken from slumber. The color of his skin is much paler than the expected hue, the recent development in his life having caused his features to become more gaunt, seeming to age him.

Processing the meaning of Cedric's disappearance was gut-wrenching. He had been so prepared to exit the memory and instantly be greeted by that ghostly figure. It would have proven all the dissenting witnesses wrong, would prove that he wasn't going mad at all, that they had somehow been missing something so pitifully obvious. That was not the case.

He searched around the office, checking every cabinet, anything that had any possibility of being used as concealment. He checked once more. Nothing. It was theorized that Cedric had just been frightened by the events of the previous week. Shell-shocked, staying hidden out of fear, never wanting to be discovered by another person again. The investigations into all the crevices of the space made that theory irrefutably false.

Overwhelmed by so many confusing emotions at once, Fred broke down. Just laid against the nearest wall, legs sprawled out on the floor, and rested his head against the wall. The tears progressed from silent drips down his cheeks to something uncontrollable. They grew so high in numbers that vision began to become impaired, and a burning sensation corrupted the boy. He proceeded to hyperventilate, inundated by a massive feeling of loss, as though someone had come and torn a chunk away from his body, as though one of his appendages was removed, a concrete piece of him stolen away and promised never to be returned.

Rational thought became available again a time later. That's when it all started making sense. This cascade of emotions had not dulled his intelligence. He thought about specific events from the past week. The looks of skepticism from the onlookers when he had attempted to introduce them to his ghostly companion. George checking his face, reacting in absolute horror when the severity of his sleep deprivation became known. Forced to spend nights in the hospital wing, mind manipulated by the Sleeping Draught, experiencing a genuine, healthy sleep, free from nightmares, for the first time in months, every day for a week straight. Cedric being absent from this present meeting, thought to be in hiding, revealed to be the contrary.

None of it had been real. Absolutely none of it.

Just the memories and everything that had long since happened in the past. Every conversation was almost entirely a fragment of his imagination, a portrait of his subconscious, projecting its thoughts, making them feel real through Cedric. The only thing that attached those conversations to the physical world was the words that were spoken. They had to come from somewhere. It wasn't the air communicating with him. It was a deep exemplification of himself, telling him things both enjoyable and difficult to hear.

None of those words had been of Cedric's creation. The hallucinogenic projection generated by Fred had only been their host, a method of deliverance, a twisted messenger, luring the victim in with false pretenses and hopeful promises.

Fred became addicted to those words. Injected them into his bloodstream like a drug, giving his free spirit up, ready to be controlled by an outside force. His actions became dictated by what would make that projection happy. Examples were clear. He kissed Katie because the ghost had persuaded him to move on more quickly than he was prepared to. He stayed at Hogwarts because the mere presence of Cedric in his ghostly form was enough to keep him there, despite everything else giving him a million reasons to leave. Hearing those words every week was the only reason he had needed to remain latched to this now bitterly nostalgic location.

The only consolation imaginable was that some of the words had genuine intent. They could still be true, despite the circumstances surrounding the method by which they were birthed.

In his desperation, he burst from the door of McGonagall's office to retreat back to his dormitory, where he knew his brother would be waiting, likely knowing what had occurred in the room so many floors down from him. Fred climbed all the stairs as quickly as he could. He was on a mission, one of supreme importance. A declaration was to be made.

George saw his brother enter the dormitory and he needed nothing more than a glance of maybe half a second to deduce that the truth had been uncovered. He ran to him, no words uttered, and took the convalescent into his arms, holding onto him as if for dear life. Apologies are fervently released. He feared that Fred would despise him for the lie he had taken part in, that he would be furious for George being the whistleblower on the whole operation, for being the one that had seen the harm being done and had put a stop to it.

All he hoped was that his actions would not be seen as a betrayal. That there was no malevolence behind the treatment given, that he only wanted his brother to be healthy again.

Fred doesn't think about all that when he hugs George. He closes his eyes, just thankful to have someone who loves him so dearly, someone who is willing to make the biggest sacrifices for his own happiness. That someone is George. It always has been.

They start planning their escape the next morning. Fred slept in his own bed that previous night. Without fear of nightmares, without hesitation. And it felt incredible.

"Do you have any ideas?"

Just as had happened previously, the pair found themselves relaxed on the floor of the dormitory, a piece of parchment laid out with a quill beside it, waiting to hear the plan.

"I think we can use this as an advertisement. Show off our products, let everyone know what to expect when we open up the shop."

Fred smiles. The shop. Their dream for so long. Finally coming true, after years of developing products, collecting funding, and formulating a business approach. It was theirs.

Something to look forward to.

The ghost had promised him that he would meet a handsome man that would adore him, fall in love with him, and want to grow old with him. Fred had difficulty believing that. He assumed that it was solely because of his attachment to Cedric, that any future relationship would be haunted by the presence of those gorgeous grey eyes and that beautiful smile.

He was now trying his damndest to attach a new meaning to his hesitance.

Moving on was not the dominant objective, the holy grail to search for. It was something that would come eventually, after proper time was given. The projection vowed that it would happen someday. That someday did not have to anytime soon.

The shop was the priority now. Actualizing the dream he shared with George.

"That sounds good. Lots of explosions, fireworks. Maybe a Portable Swamp or two."

"Give these poor souls something to be happy about."

They look at each other in total agreement. So confident in their idea, knowing that it will be everything they want and more. Discussion is continued. Details must be hashed out. Their excitement only grows as this progresses. Genuine smiles are flashed, laughter is shared, revitalizing an age-old friendship. It almost feels as it once had.

The parchment is filled with an adequate amount. Everything is settled. They will leave Hogwarts in glorious fashion, in a way that will doubtlessly be labeled as unforgettable.

They'll become legends.

George laughs quietly and looks to his brother. His smile is suppressed, but not extinguished.

"How are you feeling?"

A heavy question and not one easily answered. There isn't a guide on how to react to something like this. People have experienced heartbreak, loss, sacrifice, grief, and all the horrible feelings in between there. This felt like a concoction of those, a mixture of cruelty, and yet . . somehow he was able to maintain his composure as he sat there. An explanation was not simple. It could have just been shock, still resonating from the night before. Or better yet, what if it was a much greater option than that? What if this was the first step on the path to acceptance, to recovery?

"I'm not sure. This all still feels .. completely insane." He chuckles.

"I spent hours talking to myself. Imagine I must've looked like a real prat doing that."

Self-deprecating humor had never been his strong suit, but it had never felt more appropriate than now. That was the only thing that felt capable of capturing the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Having philosophical discussions with a product of your hallucinations, especially that of your dearly departed lover, was laughably morbid.

"None of it was your fault. Everything you did was for a reason." A pause is given before he gives a polite, closed-mouth smile. "Even staying up for hours at night."

"I feel so stupid. All of this happened because I was afraid of seeing his face like that. I was afraid of confronting the truth. Look where that got us."

Silence falls over them. It's only temporary.

Fred looks at George. There's a hint of pain in his eyes.

"I miss him. The real him."

On the morning of their departure, Fred finds himself standing just behind their spot by the lake. He is holding a basket in his hand. That basket carries supplies of a variety that he never could have predicted himself using. They're gardening supplies.

Professor Sprout had been confused by the request. She completed it nonetheless. The correct plant was chosen, a source of beautiful poetic meaning.

"He would be happy," She had said, just as he turned to leave.

Those words reverberate through him. Happy. Such a subjective term. And so vague, so broad, almost to the point of it being obsolete. At that moment, though, it was something meaningful. It wasn't the act of planting this flower that would make Cedric happy. It was the idea behind it. Fred had been willing to divulge some of the significance of this action to Professor Sprout. After all, she was the Head of Hufflepuff house. She had the right to know something further about one of her most beloved students.

Sprout watches with dedication as the stories are expressed. She sees Fred smile.

That was why Cedric would be happy.

The basket is set on the ground and its contents are unpacked. Fred sets to work digging a hole just large enough to fit the delicate flower. It's placed inside, and the dirt is arranged to provide a comforting new home, one just as good as the greenhouse had been.

He steps back to admire his work.

The petals move with the gentle breeze. They're a gentle blue color, striking and yet so elegant at the same time. The flower is in no way obnoxious in size; subtlety is the approach taken here. Fred has no idea if anyone other than himself and Sprout will be aware of its presence. He wonders if students will see it when they go for walks, whether they will point it out to their friends, talk about how beautiful it is. Will they be curious as to why it is there, or who planted it?

He never bothered to learn the proper name for the flower.

The one the wizards gave it was irrelevant. The muggles had a much better one.

The forget-me-not.

Fireworks were always such a sight to behold. An eruption of color, different shades clashed together, producing a spectacle of elevated splendor. The sound of the explosion, penetrating into your skin, feeling almost like a second heartbeat, regulating the speed at which you existed.

For Fred and George, they were a triumph. A celebration.

One last prank for Hogwarts to revel in.

They mounted their broomsticks and kicked off the ground. All the spectators showed their reactions on their faces, whether it be the ugly look of loathing from Umbridge and Filch or the overjoyed grins of all the students, relishing in the fact that someone was finally brave enough to demonstrate full-blown rebellion.

Cheers filled the air, screams of delight, chants of the name Weasley.

It's everything they wanted. Everything they dreamed.

Fred flies up next to George as they reach a height providing them with the best possible view of the castle. They can see all of the towers, all of the different classrooms, the giant space devoted to the Great Hall, even the Quidditch Pitch, a place holding so many fond mental souvenirs.

A thought comes to him. A distant memory.

He reminisces on the time that he had dared Cedric to come out, late at night, to ride their broomsticks around the castle. It was a challenge, an invitation to see who was better. The boy had refused. This memory had come to Fred early in this seventh year at school. It was procured as he stared outside the window of the dormitory, looking at nothing in particular.

It was breathtaking just how much had changed since then.

Back then, smiling was one of the most difficult tasks imaginable. Thoughts rarely drifted away from Cedric; they consumed him, threatened to eat him alive. He had felt like a shadow of a person, true existence having been wiped out by unstoppable torment. A miserable affair.

And yet, some things hadn't changed at all.

George had never left his side. It was him that had held him whenever he cried, him that had never given up hope, him that would always be waiting there when things got better.

In this moment, for the first time since Cedric's death, he was convinced that everything would turn out alright. George would help him achieve that. No doubts.

Fred looks to his brother.

"Race me?"

He gets a cocky grin in return.

"You're on."

They take off, accelerating as much as their brooms will allow it. The wind soars through ginger locks. Adrenaline courses through their veins, pulsating, making them feel more alive than they ever had before. Fred gains a new sense of determination and puts all of his focus into this game they have decided to play, unable to forfeit any challenge. Eyes turn backward.

He was winning.

Just as he promised he would.


End file.
